


Cutting Edge

by AnonGrimm



Series: Equilibrium: of Cruelty and Pain (Sabretooth) [5]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Sabretooth - Fandom, Tony Stark - Fandom, Victor Creed - Fandom, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: "Foul" Language, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Gore, Consensual sweet homosexual sex - whaaat? Wild I know..., Dom/sub Play Elements, Dubious Consent, Felching, Geez it's Victor - I should list what isn't in this thing, Graphic Extreme Violence, Graphic Slash Sex, Homophobic Language, Hunters & Hunting, Hydra (Marvel), I'm serious about the gore, IronTooth - Freeform, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Minor Dub-Con Elements, Misogyny, Obsession, Oral Sex, Poisoning, References to Stalking, Rimming, Sexism, references to cannibalism, references to necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-06-05 12:53:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 69,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6705202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonGrimm/pseuds/AnonGrimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sabretooth and Iron Man end up thrown together in an arctic survival situation and Victor decides to save Tony’s life, even though it may compromise his mission. Tony is just trying to survive and get answers about what that mission may be, but Victor’s carnal wants are hard to ignore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Icebound

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not post this story anywhere without the author’s permission. Thanks. Feedback and constructive critiques are welcome, too. Just comment, email me at anongrimm@msn.com or tweet: @MET_Fic
> 
> Sabretooth is a gleeful villain and I don’t plan to redeem him here; if you like evil main characters, enjoy! If not, you might want to re-read the tags...
> 
> TIMELINE: After Iron Man (Movie 1), before Iron Man 2. Therefore, Tony is not yet an Avenger. This story occurs after my "Blood Song" tale. It is a part of my series, "Equilibrium: of Cruelty and Pain". My Sabretooth is based on the blonde mutant in the comics. Tony will be largely movieverse with a little influence from the comics, but this story is occurring in late September 2003, so I’m ignoring the fact that post-Iron Man movie 1 Tony comes from 2008.
> 
> My Sabretooth is inspired by the version of him when they draw him sexy and write him as an intelligent, though brutal, character. Rather than make this note as long as the story, you can get more details at my personal fanfic blog: mindseyetheatre.net or look up Sabretooth on the Marvel Comics wikis and databases. Thanks to the input from CanuckleheadCowgirl, I am dubbing my Sabretooth/Iron Man ship: IronTooth! This will be the most often pairing in my Sabretooth series. I tried to find some stories with these two, and it doesn't appear to exist? I find that weird, as it really works astonishingly well. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)

I got my gun at the ready, gonna fire at will  
Cause I shoot to thrill and I’m ready to kill  
I can’t get enough and I can’t get my fill  
Shoot to thrill, play to kill  
Pull the trigger, pull it  
Pull it, pull it, pull the trigger  
Shoot to thrill, play to kill

~ Shoot to Thrill (AC/DC)

*****************************************************************

Driven off-course, Tony Stark struggled to remain in the air as he was swallowed up by the polar twilight over a world gone murky white and dark blue. The suit had taken damage, maybe too much of it, and the modified F-22 in pursuit wasn’t giving up.

He had quit paying attention to the blinking displays and warning sounds several desperate minutes ago, too busy with trying to reach land – any land that wasn’t ice – and find a place to dodge and ditch.

“Hey, I just saw a polar bear; maybe we could double back and ask him for directions?”

“Power is at 28%.”

“Do we have anything left to hit them with?”

“Munitions are offline, repulsor power low. All remaining power has been diverted to flight, sir. Incoming.”

“Got it.” Tony tried to dodge and almost spun into the ice. The jet’s electromagnetic pulse weapon hit again and he gasped, watching the power display plummet just to avoid looking at the heart monitor. “Why can’t we dodge this thing? Why are we even still flying? Damn it, I designed this suit to laugh at EMP weapons!”

“Power is at 19%.”

“Stop telling me that, okay? Not helping.”

“Sir, I’m detecting a significant and mobile unidentified heat signature on the ice ahead.”

“Another polar bear, right? I need coordinates, JARVIS. The polar bears tell me where we are. Where can we get to, away from this ice field?”

“Incoming ground attack.” Sensors screamed and displays flashed.

“What the –!”

He dodged and dipped low at the same second that another EMP blast smashed him into a jagged hole in the ice. He picked his head up and watched in shock through the helmet display as a missile struck the F-22 in a burst of fire. Metal screamed and the explosion tore a wing off of the jet as it fell out of the sky. It hit far too close to him, the ice cracking and grinding under it.

“JARVIS, power?”

“Power is at 7% and falling, sir.”

“What hit them? Where did it come from? It pasted the cockpit.”

“Igla-S missile with HEFRAG warhead, 9K338 anti-aircraft missile system, from –” The displays began to flicker.

“Stay with me, JARVIS, come on…”

“Sir, power is –” The suit went dead.

“JARVIS? Oh, not good, bad…”

Nothing was moving in the fireball where the cockpit of the F-22 had been, but something behind him was moving.

_That’s no polar bear._

Heavy footsteps crunched through the snowy ice until whoever – or whatever – it was passed him by like he wasn’t there.

_No way a red and gold suit of armor doesn’t show up on ice like a beacon, even in this miserable dark…_

The figure was huge, with a tell-tale Russian SA-24 Grinch slung at his back: the 9K338. It had to be a man going by the size and build, but he was wrapped head to toe in thick white arctic clothing and gear – topped, oddly enough, by a white fur coat the size of a bedspread. The gloved hands held an ugly black HK-416 assault rifle, but the weapon was pointing at the crash – so far.

A horrible feeling of helplessness filled Tony as the figure turned and some sort of glowing vision-enhancing goggles stared down at him. The man approached and the toe of one of the huge wickedly cleated boots nudged his metal shoulder. Tony kept still, at a loss for what to do.

Swinging the rifle down by its shoulder strap, a gloved hand moved to the face and a finger pulled down the mask at the corner of a mouth. “Ya alive in there, flyboy?”

The voice, the nickname – they made his head spin. He lifted the helmet higher as his vision started to go black. Hoping he’d get to wake up, he passed out.

~ ~ ~

The first thing Tony saw when he opened his eyes was a furry blonde armpit. It made no sense, so he closed his eyes again and opened them once more. _Nope, still a furry armpit. Okay…_

He could barely move, but he was warmer than he’d been when he passed out. Slowly glancing around, all he could see was dark until he spotted the outline of the armor in some slightly-less-dark.

It looked like it was lying in a snow tunnel – the same one he was buried even deeper in. The shock of seeing the suit intact, seemingly with barely more than a few scratches and dings, momentarily stopped the questions he should have been asking himself.

 _If that was an EMP weapon capable of damaging it, why isn’t it mangled? Half-melted? Or me, for that matter? Why am I outside of it – that might be important._ His body was wrapped and covered by something heavy and when he pushed at it, it moved and growled. _I wish I was drunk…_

“Quit wrigglin’, Stark,” the mound attached to the armpit ordered. “Tryin’ t’ catch some shut-eye, here.”

“Creed? Um… What the hell?”

“Saved ya, that’s what – even lugged yer bloody fuckin’ tin can along. Ya can show yer heartfelt gratitude later. I’m beat.”

“Okay… Can you at least tell me where we are? What on earth you’re doing out here? Maybe clue me in on why you’ve made me your teddy bear…?”

The massive body that seemed to be the only source of heat for miles sighed and growled again. “Artic Circle, modified seal tunnel. T’ keep ya warm. Ya done?”

“No. Why are you here?”

“That’d be my own biz, hero. Short answer’s ‘here fer a job’.”

“So you just happened to blow up the jet that was trying to kill me and then dragged me off to warm me up?”

“Blowin’ up tha jet was tha job. Yer just a pretty trinket I found on tha walk out there.”

“You saved me because…?”

“Call it a whim.”

“Uh, thanks. Listen, as much as I appreciate not waking up with my feet frozen into the ceiling of your den, unable to reach my lightsaber, can we stop cuddling now?”

“Nope.”

“What did you wind me up in?”

“Most o’ my clothes. What’re ya doin’ up here, anyhow?”

“I got chased here – started out in Greenland, but my plan for a leisurely flight got ambushed. I nearly had a heart attack; that EMP weapon, or whatever it was, wasn’t fun. Do you know who was flying that thing?”

“Specifically, no.”

“So this … whim… Why did you really save me?”

“Cuz tha ice was trashed an’ ya mighta ended up under it. Loads easier t’ snag ya up prior than after. Voice o’ experience, by tha by.”

“Agreed, not exactly what I meant, thanks again, but … we don’t like each other.”

“Yer fond o’ makin’ it clear ya don’t like me none. I never said I didn’t like ya back.” Creed moved and Tony was shocked when a large pink and sandpaper-rough tongue appeared out of the dark and licked up the side of his face.

“Ugh! Okay, I’m warm – appreciate the help, got to go…”

Creed chuckled and Tony was abruptly staring into slightly glowing mutant amber eyes – the source of the light. Claws slid out, tearing through the fingers of his glove. They settled on the clothes Tony was wrapped up in.

“Gonna be no fit place fer a snack like ya out there, draggin’ yer can along without tha benefit o’ my warm threads. Snag a nap. We can figure out tha rest after.”

Tony was grabbed and pulled closer, one huge arm draping over his body and effectively pinning him. He knew the mutant had closed his strange eyes when the dark crowded back in around him.

At a loss, Tony muttered, “I’m hungry.” That disturbing growl thrummed through the huge body and prompted him to add, “If you are, don’t eat me, deal?”

“I’ll hunt when I wake up. Now shut up or I’ll make ya shut up.”

“Shutting up.”

He wanted to start planning his daring escape, he really did, but the enormous evil cat-man was warm.

Exhaustion crawled into his bones as he lay still and though sleep was going to get him, he was afraid to let it. The horrible fear that the strange EMP hits could’ve damaged him more than he knew led him into the nightmares of the cave again.

*****************************************************************

Victor woke planning to cuss out his companion for fidgeting and muttering, and then he realized that Stark was still asleep. Turning to face him and curling up closer again, he ducked his head to scent at the man’s throat.

_Fancy cologne, two diff’rent women a few days ago, booze, lotta fear stink…_

Curious about the strange smells coming from his chest, even though he knew what it was, he worked a gloved hand into the swaddling around him to expose it. The arc reactor glowed dully through the AC/DC t-shirt. He ran his fingers over it as the man woke with a start and then froze in fear.

“Relax. Cats get curious, ya know. Never saw this thing up close.” Victor met his worried gaze. “Ya look a bit pale, flyboy. Not feelin’ up t’ snuff?”

“This is my second wake up in a snow hole in the middle of nowhere with a feral cannibalistic assassin cuddling me and now … sniffing and pawing me… I’d pinch me if I could move that much.”

“That ain’t yer only prob; ya gotta nasty case o’ heart arrhythmia goin’ on, an’ more metal t’ worry ‘bout than this thing.” He tapped the front of the reactor.

“Wow, big word. How do you know that?”

“Tha word, or yer condition?”

“Condition.”

“Cuz I can hear it limpin’ along in there an’ I can smell tha rest.”

“That isn’t a mystery to me. Why that weapon didn’t parboil me in the suit, is. Exactly how did you get me out of it, by the way?”

“I seen ya shed that rig a few times. With tha power dead an’ all tha defenses outta commission, figured out how t’ pop yer locks pretty quick. Good fer ya I did, ya woulda frozen solid in that fuckin’ thing.”

“I’ve heard more about you than I’ve actually known of you, besides Chicago and our few whistleblower phone chats –”

“Spared ya lotsa grief tellin’ ya ‘bout yer wayward toys fallin’ int’ enemy hands, I bet. Not t’ mention fixin’ all yer probs in tha Windy City.”

“Yes, for a price.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in this world that don’t gotta price.”

“So … how have you managed to see me remove the suit ‘a few times’?”

“It’s called stalkin’. Watchin’ ya is never dull – if I’m in tha same hemisphere an’ happen t’ be bored when ya cross my path. Saw ya fuck a _Maxim_ cover girl once; that was a treat.”

“Oh. Which month?”

“April.”

Stark smiled. “Oh, yeah. Um, nearby apartment, stargazing telescope?”

Victor smirked. “Nearby roof, sniper rifle scope.” Chuckling, Victor ducked his head again to sniff at the man more. “I was impressed.”

“With that backbend thing she did?”

“Nope – with yer anatomy. It’s a very good scope.”

“That whole _Maxim_ thing was in the papers ... maybe you just read about it.”

“Was tha part where ya whacked ‘er with tha scotch bottle between round one an’ two when ya nearly fell outta tha bed in tha papers? Or ‘er attempt t’ stuff it up ‘er twat?”

“No… This is a creepy strange chat, especially with the being sniffed…?”

“Ya ain’t on tha menu. Speakin’ o’ which, scootch down deeper int’ tha tunnel a bit.”

“Why?”

“Cuz breakfast is ‘bout t’ be delivered an’ if ya ain’t outta tha way, ya could get nibbled on or clawed, that’s why.” He rose on hands and knees, his back brushing the snow roof, and began to stalk up the tunnel over the metal suit.

“Don’t think I’m not grateful you’re wearing pants, but do you want your other clothes? At least the boots with the scary cleats? It’s probably below zero.”

“I’ll live. Stay wrapped up.”

The wind had increased as they slept, carrying more snow, but it was still again as he crouched a foot inside the tunnel. The metal boots of the suit were between his feet. He could hear and smell his prey just as easily as it had sensed them. He spotted it lumbering closer through the dark blue polar twilight – a lone older male.

“What are you doing?”

The idiot was right behind him, breath rasping because he was half out of the warm clothes.

“Get tha fuck back down an’ outta my way. Now.”

“Um, is that a polar bear? Or a furry tank?”

“That’s breakfast.”

He leaped out of the tunnel and pounced on the huge animal, silent and lethal. It outweighed him by a thousand pounds easily, but as long as he could keep it away from the tunnel and not shred the thing too much, he could have a little fun with it.

Victor heard the fool yelp in the tunnel mouth when he saw the bear rake him along the thigh. The ugly gouge healed almost before his blood could hit the snow. Digging in with claws, his teeth wounding the paw that tried to swipe at him again, he yanked his weight over and managed to make it topple when the injured paw buckled.

The moment it fell, he lunged over its shoulder and dropped his jaw, his mouth opening wide. Grasping the throat, his fangs snapped into it, the bite force pressure he exerted slashing through the carotid, jugular, and trachea, ending the fight fast.

Working quickly, he used his claws to cut the hide off. Laying it flat with the fur against the snow, he began to carve off large hunks of meat and pile them on the hide.

Fangs helped him to quarter larger sections, but he avoided the organs he would normally take from other prey. The only one he did snag was the liver. Digging into the snow to get to the ice, his claws cut two rough pieces of it and stuck the organ between them before wrapping the bundle up. Leaving the rest where it was, a short distance from the tunnel, he grabbed the furry sack and carted it back.

Victor found Stark lying on the armor wrapped only in the t-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes he’d worn inside the suit, and Victor’s heavy fur coat. The horrified stare spoke volumes, but the man said nothing as Victor drove him down deeper ahead of him.

He dug out a larder in the wall of the tunnel and stuffed the meat in it, careful to keep the organ away from the rest. The dug out snow served as a way to get some of the blood rubbed off of his skin, but the white pants were probably stained and torn for good.

“Look out, time t’ redecorate,” he announced, and then spread the hide out fur-side up.

Once he was leaning against it where it curled up the back wall of the tunnel, it was almost a furry artic couch.

“Didn’t know ya could be struck mute; wanted t’ see if there was a string in yer back, before.”

“Aren’t you hurt? It tore your thigh out.”

“Pants are toast. Thigh’s fine. Said ya were hungry. Get over here an’ bring tha pile o’ warm stuff with ya.”

“I guess I never really thought much about the whole healing thing. Does it hurt?”

“Hurts when tha damage happens; tha knittin’ flesh can hurt when nerves regrow. After that, it’s mostly an annoyin’ buzzin’ feelin’, like a foot gone t’ sleep an’ wakin’ up all prickly.” Victor watched him as he started to shake. “Gonna freeze t’ death or come sit by tha heater?”

“Only if you promise not to snuggle me.”

“Feels like I should lay some cash on this – heart attack or frostbite? Place yer bets.”

The man glared at him but he did grab the pile of clothes and move to sit beside him. “Do you have any water?”

“Canteen’s propped by yer elbow. It’s full an’ I got more, so knock yerself out.”

Fishing for it and drinking, Stark sighed in relief as he capped it and set it down. “You mixed in a bit of salt, to keep it from freezing – clever.”

“Not as dumb as I look, science boy.” Victor picked up two hunks of meat. “Flank or shoulder?”

“Raw bear, so tasty. This is eat or die, I guess, because it would have to be.”

“Yup.” Victor handed him the flank section. “Here, might be less tough fer ya.”

“My kingdom for a fork.” Tony made no move to take it. “I don’t … like to be handed things, especially bloody things…”

With a sneer, Victor set the meat on the snow and let him pick it up himself.

Holding meat in one hand, Victor turned his head to get at it with his carnassial teeth behind the fangs and sheered off hunks small enough to swallow. He was surprised when he got to eat in peace, and then he noticed Stark was gingerly trying to bite the hunk of flank and getting nowhere.

“Gimme that – useless blunt li’l teeth.” He snatched it. “Hold out yer hands, an’ don’t gimme no lip ‘bout handin’ ya shit, neither.” Victor used his claws and diced the bloody meat into small pieces. Stark tried not to wince each time a gobbet smacked wetly into his cupped palms. “Lemme know if ya need me t’ chaw on it first – feed ya like a baby bird.”

Ignoring him, the man made a face. “Pretend it’s sushi,” he mumbled. “Hell of a way to start a Paleo diet.”

He didn’t manage to eat it all, but he got enough down to survive on. Victor speared the last of it with claws, without pricking the shaking palm and finished it up.

Holding his bloody hands out, Stark asked, “Did the bear bring napkins?” You probably don’t want me to wipe off on your coat and I really don’t want a snow rub-down.”

Without hesitation, Victor grasped both of his wrists, somewhat gently, and licked his hands clean. Keeping the wrists pinned, he moved up to the face and cleaned the blood from his mouth and sculpted facial hair. He’d have turned it into a kiss, but the lips and teeth were clamped tight, the whole body trembling.

“Now ya can wipe my spit off on tha coat, princess.”

Stark did so immediately, scrubbing his face on one corner of it. “That was … okay, I got nothing.” He shuddered and moved closer, grabbing the other clothes and wrapping or tucking them around him. Looking up at Victor, he remarked, “Speaking of princesses, love the jewelry, and nice up-do; the chopsticks to hold the bun are fetching.”

With a grin, Victor reached up, unclicked one, and drew the long steel needle blade from one of the sheaths holding his hair up. When Stark deflated, he clicked it back in.

Grumbling, the man muttered, “You must be a party at airport security.” After a few minutes of silence, he crammed himself against Victor just short of sitting on him.

“An’ here I thought ya were shy. Any closer, flyboy, an’ I’m gonna hafta owe ya fer tha lap dance.”

“I’m trying not to freeze to death. I’d really prefer it if raw endangered species wasn’t my last meal.”

Victor chuckled and pulled him up onto his lap. Stark tried to fuss about it and ended up straddling Victor’s hips, facing him.

“What … are you doing?”

“Ya need t’ get warmer faster an’ I’m bored.” His hand moved to the man’s back and pushed until his body fell forward onto his chest. He smelled good. As he began to nuzzle the neck, scenting it, a purr started up.

“You’re purring in my ear. Plus, you’re purring, did you know that? I’d want someone to tell me, if I started doing that.”

Ignoring him, Victor set lips to flesh, his tongue moving to suckle it between the long shafts of his lower fangs.

“Getting weird…”

“Yer int’ weird. Ya said so in _Playboy_.”

“You read the articles. Look, it’s not that I don’t go for blondes, but – hey! I bruise easy. Hang on…” His hands pressed against Victor’s collarbones, the touch strengthening the purr. “This is either dessert, or a very awkward first date and I don’t even know if I like you – that way – so maybe we have a last dance and then call it ‘just friends’ – what do you say?”

Victor’s soft growl vibrated against the pulse thudding through the flesh in his lips. His hand fished under the coat, found the waistband of the jeans, and stuffed three fingers down the back to stroke the smooth ass.

“I say we should fuck.”

“Holy shit, that’s a dick lifting my ass up. Okay, one of us isn’t having fun here.”

The heart was hammering in the wounded chest and Victor’s growl modulated from lust to irritation. “Gonna die on me?”

“Maybe? Too much stress, right? Being shot down, crashing, dragged back here by my hair, polar bear death rodeo, bear sushi, wet nap from Hell, attempted rape – all very tough on the old ticker…” Stark took a deep breath. “Does that growl mean, ‘screw it, I’ll eat him’? Or ‘okay, I’ll wait for enthusiastic consent’, because it’s really hard to tell.”

“Ain’t gotta hospital in my pocket.”

“From where I’m sitting, it’s at least a city clinic. Can I get down now? I’m afraid of heights.”

With a snarl, Victor picked him up and sat him down beside him again. “Bundle up tight an’ sleep, then. Stay pressed close. We’re gonna hafta clear outta here before long, but ya gotta be able t’ travel. I can’t carry ya an’ yer damn robot all tha way back. Gotta ‘nother payload t’ pick up.”

“Back? Back to where? Greenland?”

“Alert, in Nunavut. Canada. Ya don’t get t’ vote.”

When the man leaned away from him, his fear scent still strong, Victor pulled him close again and held him there. He turned and lowered his head so he could sleep smelling that soft dark brunette hair. After that, all he had to do was ignore the torture of thwarted heat as it pulsed in his groin.

“Is there another polar bear I could bunk with?”

Victor stifled his growl. “Go t’ sleep, Stark.”

*****************************************************************

When Tony woke again, he was moving – possibly being dragged. His body was immobile, but not freezing. In the disturbing dark blue twilight, he could see the polar bear fur all around his limited field of vision. Most of his face was covered – not only by fur, but he seemed to be wearing the mutant’s arctic insulated ski mask, too. Next to his shoulder, a bit of red metal was sticking up outside of the fur.

Over his head, a heavy crunching noise of boots in snow continued, while beneath him, a scraping sound was muted by the thick fur. Looking down, he saw a slightly weaving twin-line trail going off into the distance over the ice field.

 _I’m in a sled of some sort. I can’t move because the armor is disassembled and packed around me, with the fur over the works, and some sort of ties around that. Creed is pulling me – not the fastest way to travel._ Glancing at the piece of armor he could see, he sighed. _JARVIS … damn it… That’s it – I have to implant you into my brain._

He swallowed a yelp when the sled stopped and the end that his head was on tilted to the ice. Creed appeared, wrapped in the rest of his arctic clothing and fur coat again with both weapons hanging at his back and goggles in place. Now he knew the strange amber glow was just the mutant’s eyes.

“Why did we stop? Feel free to keep hauling me to Detroit – I’ll take you to a Lions game, buy you a hot dog – the least I could do.”

Looking up from the thick legs to the rest of him, Tony was surprised to see silver duct tape holding the shredded and blood-stained pant leg together.

“Gotta check over tha wreckage; at least tha thing didn’t drop int’ tha ocean. Babysittin’ ya has put a serious crimp in my schedule, ya know. Don’t move; tha ice may not be stable. I won’t be long.”

“Time flies when the blood rushes to your head. Also, since you tied me in, ‘don’t move’ isn’t funny at all. If you fall in, I die out here, so how about I come look? Pretend I’m curious about what was trying to kill me?”

“Wasn’t a mission t’ target ya.”

“How do you know that?”

“Cuz I did my homework. This was a test run, in a place they thought nobody would spot ‘em. Ya spotted ‘em, didn’t ya?”

“A rogue F-22 Raptor with insanely non-military-spec weaponry is hard to miss. What was your job, anyway, just to destroy it – or to recover the pulse weapon?”

“Destroy tha jet either way, recover tha weapon if possible. Gotta look at a stolen schematic my first week out here, so I knew it’d be fuckin’ huge. Obvs, I was right.”

“This would be obvious, if I wasn’t tilted brains-down.”

“Def can’t lug that an’ yer shit, not out here; ice ain’t that thick. Care t’ guess which hunk o’ metal I’m gonna kick t’ tha curb?”

“I can solve your problem a lot easier. Let me help. I can figure it out.”

“Ya’d just freeze, or seize up. All kiddin’ aside, yer chest sounded like shit when I lashed ya t’ tha sled.”

“I’ll wrap up in the fur. I’ll let you hold me over the engine. I need to know what that thing is.”

“Maybe my client don’t want tha likes o’ ya knowin’ what that is.”

“You said you were heading to Canada, even though Greenland has to be closer, going by the last coordinates I saw. I bet that’s a ‘need to get it on our soil’ sort of urgency. If the Canadian government thinks this is American because it’s mounted on an F-22, they’re wrong. Somebody stole that jet, because we haven’t got any weapons that do what that one did to me. Besides, America and Canada are buddies.”

“It’s cute how ya think I work fer tha Canuck G-men straight off. Swing an’ a miss, hero.”

“What, Hydra?”

“I wouldn’t piss on Hydra if it was on fire.”

Tony studied Creed as the mutant looked over the wreck while ignoring the frozen light wind that was blowing some of his long hair in his face. One of his thick fingers was buried in the warm clothes at his throat and it occurred to Tony that it was toying with the odd white choker he wore. He really had no idea how stupid or smart the assassin was, but his hesitation told Tony a lot. He hadn’t seen Creed hesitate one bit until this moment.

“How many PhDs in engineering are you hiding under that growl? I can help. You scratched my back, let me scratch yours.”

“Helpin’ me could be helpin’ yer enemy, ya know.”

“If that’s true, then you’ve already helped your enemy by saving my life. I need two things here – to arrive back in civilization in one breathing piece, that’s a biggie. I also need to know what that weapon is. An EMP pulse can’t affect me in the armor, but that thing did. It didn’t damage the suit, or the arc reactor, either – it drained their power.”

“Ya might not feel like yer on death’s door –”

“I know, trust me. The arc reactor in my chest powers the suit, but it also runs the electromagnet that keeps shrapnel out of my heart. If it goes dead, the shrapnel will kill me somewhere between hours or days. I hate to insist, really, but you need my help and I want to live. Also, taking a leak wouldn’t be an awful idea.”

Creed growled louder, but then finally set his weapons on the snow and bent down to cut what turned out to be more duct tape. He picked Tony bodily out of the cocoon of the sled and set him on his feet with the fur draped around him.

“No more’n five feet away fer yer leak. Keep my mask on; ya need all tha warm ya can get.”

“You forgot to pack my orange jumpsuit.”

“Yer edible t’ most things out here; stickin’ close means I kill ‘em before they kill ya, got it?”

“Got it.” Tony turned his back on him and crunched a few feet away. “First I need to find it to let it – wow, cold fingers!”

“Need help with that?”

“No, I’ve been managing solo a while now, thanks.” Shuddering and grateful to bundle up again, he turned back.

“We gotta do this fast, whatever tha fuck yer plannin’. I can’t get too close t’ those big cracks in tha ice, neither. Might only be nine t’ thirteen feet thick here an’ I’m luggin’ ‘bout 380 pounds.”

“Wow, you need to cut back on those polar bears. At least the fire didn’t get far beyond the cockpit. Ugh, smells like a Fourth of July cookout gone wrong.”

“Barbequed long pig. Whattaya need?”

Tony studied it where it had settled mostly on its fuselage, tilted down onto the stub of the broken wing. The missing wing and the ballast tank that had been bolted under it had landed a distance away. Mounted modularly under the intact wing on the inner wing pylon, the evil twin to an EMP pulse weapon was suspended over solid ice.

“Very precise shot for recovery – over my reach, though.”

Tony started to move again on feet that felt frozen solid in his tennis shoes, took about six steps, and slipped. Creed just caught him, picked him up and sat him on his shoulders. Trying to take it in stride, Tony tucked his shoes at the man’s back for balance and ignored how one big hand curled high up around his thigh.

“Okay, that works. From what I could see while it was shooting at me, what we want is in the back half of that cylinder. To avoid damaging the ice under us, we should leave the cylinder attached to the wing, cut the end off, and then slide the device free. I don’t suppose you brought tools, or a cutting torch? Really big scissors?”

Creed moved forward, let go of his thigh and popped a gleaming metal claw through his glove. “I brought tools.”

“Well, that works, too. Open her up.” Tony sucked in his breath as he watched the claw slice metal like butter. Reading about it and seeing it were shockingly different. The end of the cylinder fell and the base of the device was laid bare.

“None o’ this shit matters?” Creed tapped the cylinder with the claw.

“The rest of it is nothing but a glorified gun barrel to aim and focus the pulse,” he explained around chattering teeth. “What you want is this thing, see here? Everything attached to this base. They’ve contained it like a torpedo in a submarine’s launch tube, but instead of being fired once like a torpedo, or missile, this baby can fire a pulse that is focused and contained for small targets … like me.” Tony poked the base and its wiring connections with shaking fingers. The cold was making his whole body hurt. “I need to study the entire device.”

“Study later, flyboy,” Creed ordered. “Tell me how t’ get at tha damn thing. Where do I cut t’ yank it outta there?”

“Uh, well, don’t yank, for starters. Put the claw away and grasp the base. Pull it out a little bit – the track it’s on should extend – slowly … and just hold it there so I can see what’s what.” Creed retracted the claw and pulled. “That black flat box thing at the bottom – put a hand under it, beneath the track, and bring it out more. If any wires pull tight, stop.”

“If this thing zaps me, ain’t gonna be amused.”

“Don’t put your hands anywhere except where I say and it’ll be fine. In fact, that’s a great piece of advice for life in general.”

Creed snorted. “Track thingy’s attached t’ tha cylinder.”

“It should detach, but don’t lift it yet. I have no idea how or why it sucked power from me instead of frying all of my electronics. EMP weapons don’t typically do that. They also don’t work on me, as I said, and I don’t make mistakes about things like that. Take a step closer, I need to reach those wires.” Careful and slow, he began to disconnect them from the jet’s electronics. “Now, pull more – gently.”

“I think yer missin’ tha concept o’ tha need fer speed, Stark.”

Eyes sweeping over it eagerly as the track beneath it extended, Tony whistled. He put a hand on Creed’s head and ignored the grunt and growl as he leaned in. “This is the Scyllac type 1.3 Microfarad 100,000 volt energy storage capacitor, the holy grail of high energy fast discharge capacitors. 60,000 amp discharge capability … ultra low inductance… Oh, baby,” he crooned to it. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Gonna make me jealous. How heavy is this bitch without tha shell?”

“220 pounds for just the capacitor – we also have the antenna, triggered switch, parabolic reflector…”

“Speak English.”

“The parabolic reflector collects most of the pulse; this design is set with the emitter at the focus deep in the reflector –”

“That ain’t English. Focus on not freezin’ t’ death now, bust yer nerdgasm later!”

“Yes, fine, almost done,” Tony reached in and around, pulling more of the wires with trembling hands. “All right, those that are left lead inside the jet. I’ve pulled them as far as they’ll go and I want the slack. So cut those long, up inside the cylinder. It’s pretty dim out here; can you see where I mean?”

“Better than ya can, yeah.”

“Cut those wires and it should come free off of the track once you lift it; fair warning, the whole thing might be a bit heavier than you.”

“Nice o’ ya t’ finally answer that question. Can ya climb down? Stand outta tha way.”

“I suppose, but –” Tony would have preferred to watch up close, but Creed growled at him. “Climbing.” He almost slipped again when he got down onto the ice, and then found some snow to stand on out of the way.

“Move an’ I’ll deck ya.”

“Not moving.” Watching him lift the device off of the track and balance it on one hand, Tony played armchair quarterback. “Slightly backwards in step order, but ‘This moment is yours’, as Herb Brooks preached it. Cut the back wires first, and then slice forward; remember to leave them long.”

“Shut yer yap an’ bundle up.” When it was pulled free and he turned, the ice made a hideous cracking noise. Creed visibly flinched and growled.

“It’s breaking worse under the crushed fuselage of the jet, not under you,” Tony reassured him. “We may want to hurry back, though. Just in case. I don’t have cleats like yours, of course…”

“Hold on t’ my belt an’ stay under my arm. Don’t trip me up.”

Tony held his breath until they reached the sled. Finding more snow, he stepped away from the mutant. “Yay, we made it! Go, team! High-five?”

“Shut up.” Creed walked off carrying the device.

“That isn’t too heavy? Coming back for me, right?”

“Grab my weapons an’ get settled in. Don’t sit on tha missile, only got one left.”

“I like this plan … and uh, not sitting on missiles is a personal goal of mine.”

The ice cracked worse under the F-22 as Tony leaned over to pick up the rifle and the Grinch. He climbed into the sled and hugged them, stamping his feet. For the first time, he noticed that the sled was metal – some sort of modified gear hauler. The mutant had wrapped the last missile for the Grinch in a piece of tarp and tucked it disturbingly close to his suit.

“Hurrying is still excellent advice!”

Staring at the jet, he didn’t even hear Creed behind him until the sled rose, leveled out, and moved. He hunkered down and hugged the weapons tighter. The sled stopped and tilted again beside the device.

“Ya gotta bullshit prob with handin’ stuff t’ other folks?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Progress. Gimme tha Russian boomstick.”

Tony frowned, but handed him the Grinch. With a sigh, he watched him pick up the missile and load it – like a trained soldier, even if his idea of how to store the thing had been insane.

“Do you have to?”

“Yup.” Creed hoisted it to his shoulder. He didn’t bother with the integrated optics, guidance, or anything of the sort. Aiming by sight, he pulled the trigger.

The missile went off with a whoosh and what was left of the F-22 exploded. The ice around it went up, and then the whole flaming metal heap fell into the ocean with a roar and hiss. Pieces of pack ice floated in the hole, but no trace of the jet was left.

“Can I have that?” Tony asked, as Creed was about to discard the weapon on the snow. “Waste not, want not.”

With a growl, Creed groused at him, “Only if ya quit bein’ an infant ‘bout me handin’ ya stuff.”

“It’s a deal.”

Creed grunted, but then gave the weapon to him. Surprised when he didn’t reclaim the assault rifle, Tony held onto both of them. “How are we going to do this?”

“We? Get up outta there. Tha tech’s gotta ticket t’ ride.”

“I can’t abandon my suit.”

“Don’t hafta – yer piggybackin’ like before cuz that’s where tha warm is an’ I’m gonna pull tha sled.”

“All the way to Canada?”

Creed tugged at the edge of the ski mask that Tony was swimming in to straighten it on his face and gave him a grin packed with sharp teeth. “Just t’ base camp.”

“Those are two beautiful words: ‘base camp’.” Tony fished out one of the canteens and drank, handing it to the other man after. When he handed it back, Tony gave him a saucy wink and took it, tucking it away. “I can help pick up the pulse device, or...”

“Stand there, smile pretty an’ hold what I pass t’ ya.”

“I’m sensing an implied ‘shut up’ in there.”

“Good. So do it.”

He held several pieces of his armor and the weapons while Creed manhandled the device. As soon as he had his hands free, and ignoring the mutant’s impatient growl, Tony retrieved the long wires and wrapped them securely around the top of the thing.

Once they had it all packed in, Creed started manhandling him again, wrapping the polar bear fur around his torso tightly. He stripped off his huge fur coat and put Tony in that, fastening it around the other fur until he looked like a Neiman Marcus burrito.

When Creed turned around and went down on one knee in the snow, his gloved hands held up, Tony sighed and clambered onto his back to sit on his insanely broad shoulders again. The padded arctic clothing was soft and when he realized the man’s freakish body heat was coming through it, he snuggled his legs up tight around him without a qualm.

“Nothing like riding the heater – I didn’t notice that before.”

“I’m thinkin’ ya don’t notice much once ya gotta bit o’ somethin’ shiny with wires in front o’ ya – damn magpie. If yer legs start t’ fall off, tell me. We can make stops if it ain’t fer too long.”

“What if I have to tinkle again?”

“Hold it.”

“I’m kidding, I don’t have to. I think my bladder froze solid.” Tony fidgeted to get a good seat, hindered some by the furs.

“Quit wrigglin’ – yer squirmier than a fish on claws.” Creed grunted and rose. When he picked up the sled, Tony dug his hands into the sleeves of the coat and leaned his forearms on the blonde hair again.

“That ain’t an armrest.”

He lifted his arms reluctantly. “So while we were playing snow bunnies, where did you have the sled and weapons hiding?”

“Buried in another seal tunnel.”

“Why do you bother with the sub-zero gear if you can handle the cold half-naked?”

“No point in taxin’ tha healin’ factor needlessly, plus anonymity on tha mission. We playin’ twenty questions? Cuz I ain’t in tha mood.”

“It’s either that or an intensely challenging round of ‘I Spy’.”

“Lessee how well ya play ‘shut yer pie hole’. Yer skinny ass may be tha lightest thing I’m haulin’, but so far, yer also tha most annoyin’.”

“Are you cranky because I didn’t want a hickey?”

“Shoulda been back yesterday. Savin’ yer worthless life held me up. Time is money, flyboy.”

“Since you’ve already got my digits and you’ve licked my face, you could call me Tony.”

Creed ignored him. Hanging onto the massive torso with his legs and using his arms to hug his dimly glowing chest, Tony tried not to think about his aching limbs, the soul-sucking cold, or the dicey state of his health.

 _On the plus side, my life now depends on the goodwill of a surly violent mutant mercenary with a reputation for gutting and eating people. Lucky for me, he has a sense of humor – related to forcing his way into my pants, or torturing me with raw meat._ Tony sighed. _At least he’s warm._

*****************************************************************

Victor kept his head down and thought about feeling sorry way after the fact for the plow horses he’d seen in his youth. The device from the jet was easily 500 pounds. In comparison, hauling Stark and his armor was negligible. Even though he could lift far more weight, it was still a wretched business dragging it all as fast as he could for miles over snowy pack ice – especially with the worry of thinner ice breaking under them.

He had managed to stop in time to catch the man before he fell from his shoulders. Rearranging sections of armor to act like a retaining wall as well as windbreak, he had nestled the bundled unconscious man between them and the device. Pulling the fur right over his head, he had picked up the sled again and trudged on.

It was hard to tell if it was day or night in the extended polar twilight and he knew the longer it took to return to base camp the darker it would get. He could see in the dark, but that was only the start of the challenge.

_If those idiots at camp start t’ think I ain’t comin’ back, they might pull up stakes, commandeer my stuff, an’ bug out – just in time fer months o’ night t’ set in. If Stark’s gonna get any chance in hell o’ survivin’ this, I hafta reach my tent, get tha man warm, an’ figure out how tha fuck t’ help ‘im. Or maybe he can figure that part out – if he lives long ‘nuff. Still a risk o’ tha enemy spottin’ us, too. Knew I shoulda brought more fuckin’ missiles; they’re like potato chips, always gonna want more._

Hearing Stark start to groan and feeling his movement, he aimed for a snowy mound where he could set the front bar down without tilting the sled and went back to check on him.

“What is it?” Lifting the fur to see his face and giving him a sniff, Victor growled low. “Tha jouncin’ probly ain’t doin’ ya no good.”

“Hi… Uh, no, not really. Also, I’m hungry. How long have we been at it? I can’t tell in this messed up wasteland. I guess I fainted…”

“Most o’ tha day int’ early evenin’ is my guess an’ yup, ya did. Shoulda just packed ya back in here t’ begin with.”

“No harm, no foul – still breathing. It was hard to hold on, but to be honest, I wish I could; it was warmer wrapped around you.”

“Always tha flirt. Tha cooler by yer head is our meat stash, if ya wanna dig in there later. Don’t touch tha bit between tha ice hunks.”

“Why, is that your choice tasty morsel? I’ll try to restrain myself.”

“Just don’t touch it.” Victor fished out a small hunk of meat the man could probably handle. “Stay down, tha wind picked up. Eat.” The claws cut it small and he held it out piece by piece.

“Aren’t you going to make cute airplane noises to help me eat this?” He partly chewed but mostly just choked it down.

“Here, drink water.” He tucked the canteen beside him so he wouldn’t fuss about being handed the damn thing.

Stark shifted up on an elbow, drank, and actually handed it back. “Why do you care about helping me?”

Finishing off the canteen, Victor settled on a plausible excuse. “Let’s say I really like my Memory Image Inducer ya made me. ‘Sides, ya still owe me two favors fer cleanin’ up yer li’l mess in tha Windy City.”

“So this is about wanting more tech toys, or are you working a little harder to achieve that enthusiastic consent?”

Victor smirked. “Yer lucky ya got shitty health, or I’d already have carnal knowledge o’ yer ass.”

“Yeah, that’s just how I feel – lucky.”

“Yer Lite-Brite doo-dad’s still workin’, I can hear it. We gotta keep movin’.” He put the empty canteen next to the cooler.

“Sooner or later, I want to hear it.”

“What?”

“The real reason you’re helping me.”

“Keep still an’ try t’ sleep.”

“Creed – thank you.”

Victor didn’t answer. He picked up the front bar of the sled and heaved to get it moving again.

~ ~ ~

The little cluster of three white rectangular insulated tents finally came into view and gave Victor something to aim at with a fresh burst of vigor.

_Stark ain’t gonna be a popular addition t’ our li’l crew. Better let ‘em think he’s a captive. If they back off an’ mind their own biz, fine. If not, there’s always plan B._

 

 

*****************************************************************

 **Author’s Note:** Herb Brooks is a famous hockey player and coach. The full quote that Tony is cribbing from is: “You were born to be a player. You were meant to be here. This moment is yours.” Tony’s joke about hanging from the ceiling unable to reach his lightsaber is of course a reference to _Star Wars: the Empire Strikes Back_ when the Wampa in the cave plans to eat Luke Skywalker.

I don’t plan to get too deep into the science or weapons/tech information and I’m taking what I do include from online research. Mostly, I want Tony to sound like a genius, but I don’t have a PhD in engineering, so it’s ‘fake it’ time. References to Chicago are from the story that precedes this, _Blood Song_. Thanks for reading.  -  AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)

*****************************************************************

 


	2. Lightning Strike

And it sure been a cold, cold winter  
And the wind ain’t been blowin’ from the south  
It’s sure been a cold, cold winter  
And a lotta love is all burned out

It sure been a cold, cold winter, Lord  
My feet been draggin’ ‘cross the ground  
And the fields has all been brown and fallow  
And the springtime take a long way around

Sometimes I think about you, baby  
Sometimes I cry about you, Lord

Well, well, well, well, well  
Yeah, and I wanna wrap my coat around you  
Yeah, I wrap my coat around you

Baby, sometimes I wanna keep you warm  
Sometimes I wanna wrap my coat around you  
Sometimes I wanna but I can’t afford you

Sometimes I wanna burn a candle for you  
Guess I wanna keep you warm, warm, warm  
Sometimes I wanna wrap my coat around you, Lord I cry

~ Winter (The Rolling Stones)

*****************************************************************

Tony woke with a start at the sound of strange male voices arguing with Creed. He ignored the uncomfortable tilted angle he was lying at again, remained still and listened, trying to breathe quietly under the polar bear fur.

“This isn’t going to fly, Creed,” a gruff deep voice was saying. “What the hell did you bring that asshole back here for? He could ruin everything.”

“Tha mark shot ‘im outta tha sky. Didn’t feel like leavin’ a perfectly good play toy out there t’ die. Rather let ‘im die in my bed.”

“Sicko faggot,” another man added. “Told you the mutie was a fudge-packer.”

Creed snarled in that direction.

“Shut up, Warner, or I’ll let him kill you just to relieve my boredom.”

“Siding with the mutie, boss?” a third man asked.

“He got the prize while you lazy assholes sat in your tent and played with your dicks. Last time I go out hunting first, I tell you that. It’s going in my report, too. I don’t care what you do to that tin bastard, Creed, as long as he gets buried here when we pull up stakes. Haul the device up to a core box and get it packed away. Tucker’s got cook detail.”

The third man groaned, presumably Tucker.

“I gotta unpack my toy first,” Creed argued. ‘Sides, it’s my prize t’ turn in, cuz I fuckin’ got it. Prefer t’ meet tha men I’m workin’ fer, Gorman. Gonna sell tha tin suit t’ tha highest bidder, too. So it all goes in my tent ‘til t’morrow an’ if any o’ ya come sniffin’ ‘round, I’ll gut ya an’ eat ya raw.”

Warner hit something. “You’re not giving orders, mutie. I ought to put a bullet in that asshole’s genius skull before he flies off and gets us all in deep shit.”

“Stand down, you bloated toad. I agree with Creed and I don’t trust either of you farther than I can throw you. Go help Tucker, I’m hungry, damn it.”

The sled was picked up again and to Tony’s shock, it was slid inside something so warm that for a moment he forgot to be freaked out over everything he’d just heard. He remained still, listening to Creed’s growling and what sounded like a tent flap being closed and secured.

When the fur was pulled off of his face, he managed not to wince. “Hi there – how much of that was the truth?”

Creed didn’t answer. Picking him up like a doll, he took the fur coat and the wrapped fur off of him and carried him to a pair of industrial-looking cots lashed together. Yanking the blankets back, he stuffed him in and covered him up. The mask was tweaked from his head.

Tony glanced around quickly and saw they were in an impressively insulated white rectangular tent complete with two military-grade space heaters and a large black steamer trunk with a silver combination lock on it. The floor, walls and ceiling around them were the same material with an aluminum framework. A camp table and heavy wooden chair were next to the trunk, and the sled was parked in front of the closed tent entrance. The back of the tent was beyond his head, but it likely had another opening in it, secured as tightly as the front.

He watched as Creed unpacked the armor from around the device and laid it all out in piles on the table. The camp lantern at the center of the piles seemed to be the only lightsource in the tent.

Creed left the device and his firepower on the sled and laid the polar bear fur down like a rug by the cot bed. Tony tried not to think about the messy uncured side staining the floor. The fur coat was hung on the back of the chair.

“Kick outta yer shoes an’ clothes an’ hand ‘em over.”

“First, can I have an answer to my rather urgent question?”

“Ya wanna strip an’ keep yer shit intact or disobey me an’ get it shredded?”

“Better part of valor…” Tony shed his tennis shoes and clothes slowly with a growing knot in his stomach. _The HK-416 is right there on the sled. Oh who am I kidding? The dossier on this man’s speed and brutality was pretty detailed on how useless trying that would be._ “Here you go,” he said, handing the small pile to him. “Trade you for more water.”

Creed set the clothes on the table with the armor and pulled a full canteen from the sled and set it beside him. Tony drank as the mutant waited and then lay back down as the canteen was retrieved.

 _I’m in no shape for dealing with him, frisky or violent; the only shot I’d ever get is in stacks on that table… What did all those thriller movies I barely paid attention to as a kid teach me? Make the heartless killer see you as a person and not as an object?_ Coming up empty, he said the first thing that popped into his head. “I’m in love with those heaters.”

Creed grunted at that, and then started to peel off his arctic gear and clothing, sitting on the trunk to pull off the heavy boots. When he took the knives out of his hair, Tony was surprised when the bun unwound and a thick braided rope of blonde hair swung over the man’s shoulder. The strands of it around his face were decorated with beads of carved bone. He wore thick metal hoops, two each, in the lobes of ears that were alarmingly mutated into points that moved like a cat’s.

Like it or not and his type or not, the mutant’s body was a work of very powerful art. If he’d been an overpriced statue, Tony would have told Pepper to buy it and store it. Even if he never looked at it again, he’d have to have it.

He was covered in blonde fur of varying lengths and thickness over at least fifty percent of his huge body. It had grown in patterns that seemed to follow different muscle groups. The chest was covered with it, meeting in a thatch at the center. Fur that was thinner at his wrists thickened over the forearms and gradually grew in length until a curly brush of long fur swept out from the elbows. A similar fetching longer trail led from his navel to disappear into the waistband. When the mutant started to open the pants, Tony turned his head and stared at the dim white ceiling.

“Gonna be shy now?”

“Can I upgrade to terrified? Since you’ve ignored my question?”

“Ya know tha rag mags keep reportin’ ya might not be invitin’ young male models on ski trips just t’ have comp’ny on tha slopes.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”

“I can scent on ya tha pair o’ skirts ya plowed before we ran int’ each other, but tha nose don’t lie – there was a least one man under their smell. He was even playin’ with yer hair.”

“That… That doesn’t automatically make you my type.”

“I’m everybody’s type once I get goin’.”

“Is that the answer to my question, then?”

“Got some advice fer ya, flyboy: keep still, behave yerself, do as I tell ya an’ ya might live t’ get t’ round two.” When Creed pulled the blankets back and slid in beside him, Tony started to try getting up on the other side. He was growled at, grabbed, and pulled in close on his back.

“I may not get a vote, but I’ll go on record as not being willing. Maybe I’ll make you kill me before I let this happen. It probably won’t take much. Listen to me: I don’t need to be assaulted, I need jumper cables.”

Creed pinned his legs with one of his as a large hand settled on his chest over the dimming glow of the arc reactor. He nuzzled his hair and licked his cheekbone. The voice, turned into a low rasping whisper, sounded at his ear.

“That asswipe Warner is right at our door. Didn’t spend all this time, sweat, an’ annoyance keepin’ yer ass alive just t’ fuck ya int’ cardiac arrest. Got it?”

Working on not falling apart with at least partial relief, Tony whispered, “Got it. You’re very convincing. Bravo.”

“Shut tha fuck up an’ listen. I ain’t gonna tiptoe ‘round these fucks fer long. Sick o’ this shit. So we’re gonna pretend an’ yer gonna act like everythin’ ya were just afraid was gonna happen is happenin’. After that, I’m gonna tell ‘em I broke ya in nice an’ obedient-like an’ then I’m gonna help ‘em with their dinner.”

“Help with dinner? Uh, I think my copy of the script is missing a page.”

“Ya listenin’?” The hand moved, slipping down his body to rest over his shuddering abs.

Feeling a light prick of claws, Tony gasped. “Listening,” he muttered.

“Yer playin’ sick an’ near fucked t’ death, so don’t come outta this bed. Also, I don’t care if ya think yer starvin’, don’t touch tha stew pot or anythin’ else that looks edible in this camp. I’ll feed ya after.”

“Okay. Ready when you are – for pretend…”

Creed grinned and nuzzled him again. The claws retracted and the hand reached lower and cupped everything. Tony sucked in a breath, all of that nice warm relief leaking away. Then the fingers started to work his soft and cold-stunted cock and Tony’s hands shot down to grasp the furry wrist.

“Yer gettin’ hard fer me pretty quick, flyboy, did ya notice? Musta been all that watchin’ me strip,” Creed whispered into his ear. The hard shafts of the gruesome lower fangs brushed his face and ear.

“Is it okay with you if I pretend that you have a stunning rack?” He yelped when his cock was squeezed and then moaned. “I thought we were faking this part? The script said so. I hate improv.”

“Ya want me t’ just ‘pretend’ t’ jack ya off?”

Tony swallowed hard as the hand made his whole slut body shudder with lust. “Well, we do have to convince them…”

“Damn straight…”

Shaking his head, Tony felt panic crawling up his throat. “Wait, wait,” he muttered, trying to be quiet. “You know those ads for prescriptions when they say ‘talk to your doctor and ask if you’re healthy enough for sexual activity’?” The thumb working his cock covered the head and smeared pre-cum there. “I … I … Oh, God… I may not be…”

Creed shifted and leaned over his face. “Kiss me.”

“No. You’re pointy. I like my face.”

Creed’s voice rose. “I like yer face too. Wanna keep it?” In a whisper, he added, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya – pinkie promise. Once tha coast is clear, we can work on fixin’ ya up somehow.”

Tony tried to control his ragged breathing and slow his heartrate down. Creed’s hard and appallingly large cock was lying across his balls, which didn’t help at all. “Okay … but pretend fangs only.”

“Princess.” Going back to nuzzling his throat, Creed spoke up and ordered, “Scream fer me, hero.”

The hand around his cock popped claws and nearly pierced him with them and Tony’s shock turned his fake scream into a real one. The deafening roar right over his face was horrifying and made it easy to scream again. Creed kept doing things to freak him out, his heart pounding worse. Real terror chased tears down his face by the time it stopped and Creed released his body and left the bed. Squeezing his eyes shut, Tony lay there trembling and listened as the man crossed the tent.

“Don’t ya move one inch, princess,” Creed ordered. “When I get back, gonna finish tearin’ up yer sloppy bloody hole.” They could both hear footsteps crunch as someone ran off through the snow.

Tony opened one eye for a wary peek when he heard the cooler open and shut. Creed had put on his duct-taped and bloody pants and the fur coat; he was holding the cooler. He tossed Tony a wink as he unfastened the tent flap. He disappeared through it and stalked off barefooted.

“Hey Tucker,” he shouted. “Got more meat fer tha stew, since ya keep bitchin’ ‘bout yer MREs.”

Tony almost sat up but then his stomach lurched. He decided to take the acting seriously and tried to lie still and slow his breathing again. Memories of Chicago and the assault in his hotel bed haunted him, but he had to push it away and focus on current threats.

 _Besides, that person is dead – Creed hunted him down. Why, though – and now saving me – just to get more toys? And he’s into men – I would not have guessed that. Maybe it’s an ‘any warm body will do’ thing?_ Tony frowned. _He reads articles about me, and watched me with a woman through a rifle scope – as a hit or as an obsession? This … could be bad…_

He tried to listen to what might be happening outside of the tent, but all he could hear was the wind.

 _‘Help them with dinner’ is ludicrous. He may be going out there to kill them._ Glancing over at the armor piled in pieces on the table, he frowned. _Not a damn thing I can do about it. Might be nice to learn what they know… Then again, maybe Creed knows everything already._

*****************************************************************

All claws out, Victor carried the cooler to the last tent from his, passing by Gorman’s in the center. Warner and Tucker shared a tent and they had grumbled about Creed getting a private one for over two weeks. Gorman had told them they were welcome to bunk with the mutant in turns, but no one had ever been the first to volunteer.

He batted the flap out of his way and found Warner sitting in the chair by the camp stove watching Tucker stir something in a steel pot. He didn’t comment on the hefty man being out of breath.

“Meat? More real meat?” Tucker asked.

“Yup, that is, if ya don’t mind sharin’ with ‘tha mutie’.”

“Hey, I was just kidding with you, Creed. Warner’s the real bigot. He watches me choke the bishop, too, so that other crack of his is probably just CYA, you know?”

“Uh-huh. Here, slice it up an’ toss it in. Tha locals love polar bear stew.”

Tucker frowned. “I think some of our food supplies weren’t iced down well enough before we got to this godforsaken walk-in freezer. As long as dinner doesn’t come out of a box again, I’m game. How about you?” He glanced at Warner with a smirk.

“Doesn’t matter to me – cook it good, though.” Warner didn’t take his eyes off of Victor, so maybe he wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

Tucker dumped the pile of meat out onto the chopping board and tossed the two hunks of slick ice back into the cooler. “You carve that ice out with those claws?”

“Yup.”

“You kill that asshole, yet?” Warner asked, his eyes narrowed.

Victor smirked. He’d noticed the chubby in the man’s pants. “Half-killed. If I finish ‘im off before dinner, I guess I won’t hafta share mine with ‘im.”

“Listen man,” Tucker said, busily slicing and tossing chunks into the stew, “I’m with Gorman, I don’t care if you stick that guy with everything you’ve got.”

“Gee, thanks,” Victor replied, sneering. “My delicate li’l feelin’s were hurt before.”

“That rich guy’s a dick,” Tucker continued, “all high and mighty and better than us. Got to say, it was a treat hearing the jerk scream like that.”

“Happy t’ provide tha camp’s entertainment. Don’t wait on me fer chow, just dig in.”

“Save you some,” Tucker replied, dropping the last gobbets into the pot. “This might take half an hour. Warner, are you awake over there, you damn goblin? When I have five minutes left on this, go get the boss. Headaches make him cranky, but cold food makes him mean.”

“Whatever,” Warner muttered. “I don’t feel great either and you didn’t get out of bed today any sooner than I did, until Gorman came staggering back in.”

“Bye, boys,” Victor called and left them. He stepped back inside his tent and was impressed that Stark was still lying where he’d left him, watching him warily with bright brown eyes. “Ya look good ‘nuff t’ eat lyin’ naked in my bed.”

“What kind of resources –”

“Hush,” Victor admonished. He ditched the coat and pants over the chair, and then sat on the bed and reached out to brush some of that dark hair behind the pale shell of his ear. “I gotta generator in my rig out back if ya were serious ‘bout jumper cables. Unless ya think that device ya almost wanted t’ fuck instead o’ me could help charge ya up.”

“I can figure something out – the faster the better, really. Rig?”

“1975 Land Rover 101, forward control 4x4. Exo-cage, cargo bed, modified V8. I call ‘er tha Ugly Pumpkin.”

“1975?”

“Nothin’ like tha classics, Mr. 1967 Shelby Cobra.”

“That car met with an unfortunate accident. You really do know a spooky lot about me, don’t you? I’d be flattered, but frankly, it’s sort of terrifying. For instance, your method of finding out I’m circumcised involved an unfair taking advantage.”

“When, t’night? Or my scope view from tha roof?”

“Why the stalker fetish? How’d I get so lucky.”

Victor chuckled and got into the bed. He leaned over the man and licked his throat before settling on his back. “Get some sleep, hero. We’re plannin’ on missin’ tha dinner bell.”

“I can’t sleep. What’s with all the fur?”

“Don’t tell me yer one o’ those PETA nuts?”

“That fur,” Stark added, pointing to Victor’s chest and the thatch of thick fur at the center of it.

“Mutation, obvs.”

“But it’s … it’s fur fur, not like … body hair. Why the smirk?”

“I’m soft, too.”

Stark sighed. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me what’s going on here, who you people are working for? What government or group was testing the weapon on that F-22 and who wanted to destroy it and steal the device?”

“First, I ain’t part o’ those morons. Gorman brought me on with his boss’s money cuz he figured, rightly so, that I could get it done. He said he works fer a group called Triad Mechanics Division. Heard o’ ‘em?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“They may be underworld types. Gorman claimed ‘is boss hates mutants, so he had t’ hire me on tha down-low. He dunno that gives me a wicked bit o’ maneuverin’ room. Plus, he already paid me – told ‘im he had t’ or I wasn’t goin’ out there alone t’ do ‘is job fer ‘im. Left my shit here, sorta as collateral. They obvs don’t got clue one who I am an’ probly think I’m just a grunt stupid ‘mutie’.”

“Wait a minute – are you actually … just leveling with me?”

“Ya gonna complain?”

“No, no… Wow. Surprised. I expected you to tell me it wasn’t any of my ‘biz’ and to shut up.”

“I’m tired o’ their shit. I dunno who Gorman’s boss is, don’t really care. If he hates mutants that bad then I don’t mind fuckin’ ‘im over. I gotta schedule t’ keep that ain’t got jack t’ do with this shit an’ I ain’t gonna jeopardize relations with clients who actually do fuckin’ ‘preciate my work.”

“So … who was flying the F-22?”

“Dunno who was onboard, but it was stolen by Hydra. Far as I know, tha device is theirs. Hell, ya might be able t’ tell me that with a closer look an’ warmer fingers; I’m just goin’ on shit Gorman told me.”

“You did mention not liking Hydra…”

“See this?” Victor stuck a thumb in the choker at the base of his throat.

“Uh, is that real bones and … teeth?”

“Hydra goon. He called me a faggot too, back in 1940. I took offense.”

“I can see that. 1940?”

“What, ya never stalked me back? Hurt my feelin’s why don’t ya.”

“No, I… It’s possible this is the strangest pillow talk of my whole misguided life.” He lifted his hand and put it to his forehead. “You look like you’re thirty-something, but Hydra insulted you in 1940. I may be getting a headache.”

Victor took his wrist gently in his fingers and as those intense brown eyes watched, he slipped the index finger into his mouth between the fangs and sucked on it and licked it until the man’s breath hitched, his fear scent almost warming into heat again. Drawing it out, he kissed the tip of it.

“I fought in both World Wars, Korea, an’ ‘Nam.”

“Why?” Stark whispered.

“Cuz they paid me t’ kill. I love killin’, more’n I love fuckin’. Sometimes though, if properly inspired, it’s a closer race.”

The man shuddered. “Is that a threat or some sort of psychotic compliment to me?”

“Can’t go pick ya flowers but I’m gonna kill these men fer ya.”

“I’m not the sort to be seduced by the ‘gift’ of murder, Creed.”

“Too late; it’s already done.”

“They’re dead?”

Outside, Warner was calling for Gorman to come eat. Stark looked confused.

“Gonna be. Don’t worry, I’ll stay with ya, watch over ya. When they’re stiff, we can get ya fixed up. Can’t risk it ‘til then. If they see me helpin’ ya, they’d shoot us both. I’d survive it, ya wouldn’t.”

“What did you do?”

“Gave ‘em tha polar bear’s liver with tha rest o’ tha meat, Tucker put it all in tha stew.”

Stark paled. He tried to get up but Victor pinned him with a hand on his stomach. “Acute hypervitaminosis A…”

“A swing an’ a hit,” Victor said. Turning onto his side, he propped himself up on his elbow to study the man. “They’ve already started feelin’ drowsy an’ sluggish, havin’ nasty headaches, bone pain, blurred vision an’ vomitin’. Since I’ve been mixin’ tha same goodies in with what I brought ‘em fer ‘bout a week now, maybe they’ll even get tha peelin’ skin or full-body skin loss. That’d be a treat – li’l bloody footprints in tha tents when tha skin on tha bottom o’ their feet peels off down t’ a bloody mess o’ tender flesh. Then comes liver damage, hemorrhage, coma, an’ finally death.”

“Severe retinol poisoning,” Stark whispered. “Why? Because they called you a few names?”

“Cuz they’re wastes o’ space. I hear tha campfire talk, tha shit they brag ‘bout doin’ – t’ mutants, t’ kids... Can’t risk havin’ ‘em found with clawmarks an’ slashes, could be bad fer business. ‘Sides, it was all tha entertainment I had out here waitin’ t’ catch that fuckin’ jet – ‘til ya came along.”

“Let me up.”

“No.” Victor pulled him closer and curled around him.

Glaring at him, Stark asked, “What if I said I have to go take a leak?”

“That yer get-outta-jail-free excuse?” Victor released him and rolled over to his back again, his hands on his furry chest. “Latrine’s sub-zero. If ya wanna go out there now an’ maybe get shot t’ death by terrified dyin’ asswipes, be my guest. If ya just wanna piss, hang it out tha back tent flap, but remember if ya run, ya die o’ hypothermia long before tha shrapnel gets ya.”

Stark didn’t move. When the screaming began, he bolted upright, but didn’t leave the bed. Holding himself tightly and trembling, he listened to them suffer as his scent spiraled into a delicious fear stink.

Victor didn’t try to touch him, though the urge to do so was intense. As the screams continued, he found a distraction in thinking about all that those men had admitted and gloated over, allowing their cries to slowly tug his lips into a Cheshire grin.

*****************************************************************

Tony lifted his hands to his ears. He couldn’t tell if it was one man screaming or all three. Creed sat up and moved as if he intended to hold him. Horrified, he twisted and punched him in the jaw, but the mutant didn’t react and it only hurt Tony’s hand. Crying out, he held it close to his chest and stared at him.

“If ya wanna hit me, aim fer tha meatier parts – jaw’s covered with Adamantium, remember?”

“I can’t listen to this and do nothing.”

“Gonna hafta, hero. I ain’t lettin’ ya go out there. They wanted ya dead before this.”

“Get out here, Creed!”

“That’s Gorman – figured he wouldn’t just lie down an’ die. It’s probly showtime – he’s a tough bastard, an’ not as big a glutton as tha other two.”

“Better run to the boss man.”

Creed growled at him. “Do ya understand tha stakes? Those men will kill ya.” The voice was closer as Gorman ordered Creed to appear again. “Don’t argue, don’t talk. Get up, get under tha cot, grab tha bear fur an’ roll up in it. Be quiet an’ wait fer my all clear. Obey me an’ live, or don’t an’ die – yer choice.”

Tony got up and obeyed. He made sure he could peek at the tent flap and rolled loosely into the fur. Turning his head, he watched the man’s ankles get into the pants before the bare feet turned for the flap. He opened it but the feet didn’t move.

“What’s all tha yowlin’ fer?”

Automatic gunfire rattled, the mutant roared and Tony was horrified to see him hit the floor of the tent on his back. His face and torso had been turned into bloody meat.

Gorman’s military boots entered, stepping over Creed’s mangled corpse. “Where are you hiding, ‘Iron Man’? Maybe you want to die by now; either way, you’re going to – just like my men. Bastard poisoned us, fucking spineless mutie.” One of the boots kicked out to shove the cots over.

Tony rolled under his raised leg, out of the fur and toward the sled. He grabbed one of Creed’s boots and swung the wicked cleats into the man’s calf muscle. Not daring to slow down enough to look at him when he shouted in pain, Tony went for the HK-416 on the sled. The moment his fingers touched it, the muzzle of Gorman’s weapon moved the hair behind his ear.

“Sit your whore ass down.”

Tony slowly sat and tried not to double over into a faint. Both hands rose to the reactor.

“Bow your head – die like a filthy mutie’s used pussy.”

“Wait, we can get you help. Creed’s got to have a satellite phone or something, maybe you do. I know what he did, it’s retinol poisoning.”

“I said bow your head, or I’ll turn it into a canoe right now, genius.” The AK-15 pointing at his forehead didn’t waver.

His mind racing to think of what he could do, Tony started to obey and then froze. His scary heartrate kicked it up a notch at the gruesome sight of Creed, alive, and moving into a bestial crouch behind the man.

Lifting a clawed hand, he put it to his mouth – where the lips had been – as if to admonish him to be quiet. One lower fang was broken off to a jagged stub. The remaining amber eye tossed him a wink as the other teeth began to open, splitting the bloody mask that had been a face. The tongue was a lashing stump.

“Any last words, asshole?” Gorman taunted.

“Yes.” Tony stared, watching Creed prepare to jump. “You may want to duck.”

Gorman gasped and began to spin, the rifle rising. The glottal roar that split the air took the breath out of Tony’s lungs. He rolled to the sled and crawled on hands and knees around it to get out of the way.

The rifle never did fire again. It fell to the tent floor followed by Gorman’s hands. Creed landed on his body in front of the camp table, claws shredding. Tony wanted to look away, but couldn’t as the heavy jaw dropped impossibly wide and snapped up again, ripping the fangs through the shoulder and neck. When Creed yanked up, the head rolled and bounced. It landed with a blank stare pointed at Tony, the mouth pulled into a wide gash of horror.

Tony’s body convulsed, his terror cresting at the thought that it could be a heart attack. Then he bent over, grabbed his stomach, and vomited violently before passing out.

~ ~ ~

He was warm, but he didn’t want to open his eyes yet just in case he was still in Hell. His hair was damp, and he was lying on soft things and covered by warm things. A hideous wet slicing sound and a growl made his eyes fly open, but he soon regretted it.

Creed was sitting in the chair by the table, piercing his skin above a rib with a claw and flaying it to the shining Adamantium-encased bone to pluck out a smashed bullet.

“Trying to make me sick again…” Tony muttered.

Ignoring him, Creed lifted two clawed index fingers to his chest and cut into it next with a hiss chased by another low growl.

Cautiously peering around the tent, Tony didn’t see a body. A good deal of the tent was smeared with ugly bloodstains, but Creed had cleaned up most of it. The white bearskin was spread on the floor again, with red stains showing here and there like wounds. Another hiss made him look back at the mutant.

“Do you have to do that in here?” He felt exhausted, almost dizzy. Regretting the harsh tone immediately, all things considered, he added, “Or, uh … do you need help with that?”

“Stay in bed an’ rest.” A metallic clink sounded and Tony saw him drop a few crushed bullets into a tin cup.

“I was about to ask if you were okay, but I guess that’s the wrong question. You’ll heal and not one thing about you is okay.”

“Yer still alive, ain’t ya?”

“So far.”

“Got yer all clear, by tha by, they’re dead. We got tha whole camp t’ ourselves t’ figure out how t’ fix ya up. Thing is, short o’ stickin’ jumper cables on yer toes, I got no clue how t’ do it. Guess yer gonna hafta sort it out yerself. If ya need help with any heavy liftin’, I’ll be able an’ willin’ in just a tick.”

Tony sat up, curled into himself and wrapped his arms around his legs. Resting his forehead on his knees, he sighed. “I suppose I have to admit that you were right about those men.”

“‘Course I was, I usually am. If it makes ya feel any less guilty, those asswipes woulda made a real sick joke: a rapist, a kiddy-diddler, an’ a murderin’ bigot walked int’ a bar… Not worth tha powder t’ blow ‘em t’ hell, as we used t’ say in various trenches.”

“You have quite a few rapes on your rap sheets in several countries, among many other horrifying crimes – so how are you any better?”

“Cuz I’m tha one workin’ my tail off an’ catchin’ lead t’ save yer damn life. Ya weren’t doin’ so great on yer own, hotshot.”

He shivered. “I couldn’t do anything. I was sluggish – and an idiot.”

“Not like yer up t’ snuff; ‘sides, without yer tin soldier outfit, yer just fast brains an’ a pretty face, ain’t ya?”

Tony looked over to frown at him, but then saw the teasing smirk. At least he had lips again to smirk with. “A fair assessment,” he relented.

“Hey, ya went fer tha HK, ya went down fightin’. I admire that.” Creed snarled. “Fuck!”

“Are you sure I can’t help?”

“No, ya can’t. Yer avoidin’ stress.”

“Oh, is that what I’m doing?” Tony kept his eyes on the massive muscled arm, trying not to think about being pinned by it again.

“Been at it a while, guess ya slept through most o’ tha clinks an’ clanks. Hafta say I oughta be used t’ it by now, but I hate bein’ shot by those things.”

“Me, too.” He glanced at the mutant’s partially healed face again and looked away quickly. Skin had grown back over the places where the metal had shown through, but the gaping bloody hole was still there. “Is there a reason your eye isn’t healing?”

“It will. Healin’ factor plays triage on its own an’ I don’t get a vote. Musta got punctured in somethin’ more important in there – could be tha stomach, don’t feel like a lung. Ya wouldn’t believe all tha mashed ammo I shit out here an’ there – occupational hazard. Thought I was passin’ a kidney stone once, but it turned out t’ be a musket ball.”

“Obviously you got your tongue back. Did you know you have a broken fang? Does that hurt?”

“Yeah, genius, it hurts gettin’ shot in tha teeth with an AK-15. Worthless dick mussed up my pretty. Guess he didn’t care none that I gotta date later.”

“Who’s the lucky girl?” Tony struggled to get up out of the bed and began to fall. The mutant moved too fast to see it and caught him. He started to put him in bed again. “No, I need to see the device. Let me sit on the floor, can you put it down there next to me?”

Placing him on the floor, Creed went back to his chair. “Yeah, hang on.”

Tony noticed belatedly that he was still naked. Creed had his ragged pants on, but they were almost red now. It was warm in the tent and he was sitting on the polar bear fur, but after everything that had happened, he felt exposed, threatened and … humiliated.

He stared as the man picked up his fur coat and brought it over to him. Gently and almost respectfully, he helped him put it on and arranged it to cover him up.

“It might get blood on it…”

“Wouldn’t be tha first time.” He could feel the mutant watching him, but he didn’t look up. “Ain’t gonna force ya. Gotta bit over-eager in tha tunnel an’ I take my pretendin’ pretty serious, but makin’ a fucker that can fly an’ blow shit up int’ an enemy? Not fuckin’ smart. Can’t kill ya – I like stalkin’ ya too much.”

“I owe you a lot. I didn’t miss that crack about all things having a price.”

“Yeah, well, some shit costs too much an’ blue balls never killed nobody. Keep takin’ my calls down tha road an’ I’m willin’ t’ count it as even.”

Tony’s hands stroked the fur over his knees. “Criminal record aside, you are nothing like I thought you were. Are you ever going to tell me why you plucked me off the ice?”

“First thought in my head? Did it cuz I wanted a shot at fuckin’ ya. No lie. After … dunno. Maybe someday ya might be in a spot t’ pull my ass out o’ a crack. Never know.”

“Maybe… I really thought you were dead. I thought I was too, twice.” He looked up and stared at the broken fang. “Thank you,” Tony whispered, “for … everything.”

“Yer welcome.”

Creed went to the sled and started to lift the device with a grunt. Tony was appalled to see his chest tear around more bullets as he picked it up.

“If you needed to wait –”

“Ya don’t need t’ wait; yer soundin’ worse.” He set it on the floor in front of Tony. “I got tools in tha rig, ya want ‘em?”

“Basic tools and maybe electrical? Gloves – that might fit me?”

“I got it all, flyboy – might hafta settle fer Tucker’s gloves.” He stepped outside. “Be right back.”

Tony watched him go, staring after the man’s broad back. As the braid moved, he saw another thicker line of longer fur running down the top and bottom of his spine.

 _If we’d met at a convention cocktail party, and I didn’t know he was a hired killer, I might have taken him upstairs just for the novelty of it. That night in Chicago on the phone, the low voice, offering to hunt that maniac ... I actually felt better knowing he wouldn’t fail. Now this makes four people he’s killed to keep me safe ... and getting shot to pieces like that..._ He shuddered and forced himself to begin studying what the device could do.

After Creed returned and surrounded him with tools, Tony didn’t let the mutant distract him. He was starting to feel worse, and he had to push his fears aside as well as his curiosity and concentrate on finding a solution to his power problem.

Creed watched him in silence for a few minutes, and then told him, “I need t’ go hunt fer us.”

Studying the device, the words barely registered in his brain. “Shouldn’t you finish bullet extractions first?” he asked, a full ten or more minutes late.

“Need tha protein t’ heal.”

“I see – it uses food as fuel. Quite an unusual mutation ... I’m jealous, actually.”

“Not as unusual as I’d like.”

His tone made Tony look up at him. He had been trying not to look at Creed’s face and it had definitely been noticed. “It’s getting better,” he muttered, trying to sound encouraging.

“Uh-huh.” Lifting the HK, he set it within Tony’s reach on the floor by his knee. “Just in case. Tha AK-15’s up here on tha table. I’ll get somethin’ other than polar bear, maybe; ya can even have it cooked. I got my own gear in tha rig, so it’s clean.”

Tony picked up a screwdriver. “Don’t you want to take at least one of the guns?”

“Nope. All I need is tha built-ins. Don’t let somethin’ eat ya cuz yer payin’ zip attention t’ shit ‘round ya. I won’t be long.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll just stay alive and figure this out.”

Creed huffed out a breath. “See that ya do. If ya stand me up, gonna be all hurt an’ shit.”

“I … thought we were dropping that…?” Tony asked, holding the tool as if it would do him any good as a weapon.

“Said I wouldn’t force ya – never said I wouldn’t try t’ convince ya.” Creed smirked at him. “Might be pullin’ yer leg a bit, might not. Just figure out how t’ fix that thing.”

“When I do, I can fly away, you realize – unless you plan to sit on my armor.”

“Do what ya gotta do, hero; I got more biz t’ finish in this wasteland before I go.”

“Uh, the device – do you still plan to turn it over to – whomever?”

“Yup. Turnin’ it over t’ ya.”

“Meaning … what?”

“Meanin’ I don’t care if ya gotta break it t’ use it t’ get charged up. Take it with ya when ya go if ya want. I don’t want tha damn thing.”

“Then why did you even come out here?”

“Already got paid, remember? I ain’t on tha books fer this. Knock yerself out.” He left the tent and walked away – barefoot, bare-chested, and bleeding – into the snowy waste.

~ ~ ~

“Eat more.”

“Yes, yes, I am,” Tony answered, distracted. He had a fork in one hand and a wrench in the other. “Cooked seal is so much better than raw polar bear; I’m prepared to cope with my guilt the next time I’m at Sea World. My compliments to the chef – whom I’m trusting not to poison me like the rest of the camp.”

“They were ugly, yer cute.”

“Outstanding,” Tony replied, barely listening.

“Not likin’ tha look o’ ‘em wires ya got there. Ya sure ya ain’t gonna roast yerself inside out, pluggin’ int’ that fuckin’ thing?”

“Pretty sure. Mostly sure?” Tony nodded and wagged the fork at him. “Definitely pretty sure. Actually, and thank you,” he said when Creed took the fork and empty plate, “actually … I could use your help.”

“I flunked science, ya know.”

“This thing, the capacitor, stores energy; it’s stuffed with all of the juice it stole from me. That’s what the whole device does – it’s already configured to steal, store, and provide juice. I assume the idea is to disable other planes or equipment without destroying them and after it’s all captured, power it up again for the enemy.”

“This enemy – it’s def Hydra?”

“Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you that – definitely Hydra. Are you sure you want to give it to me? You realize this is probably worth a fortune.”

“I gotta few fortunes, gonna make a few more come November. Lettin’ ya have it would probly annoy Hydra tha most, anyhow. Plus, I wouldn’t know shit ‘bout how t’ fence tech like that. Ya want tha thing, don’t ya?”

“Oh, well, I can find a place for it somewhere…” He winked at Creed and smiled.

“She’s all yers, loverboy. So what sorta braun ya need?”

“Once I tap this beauty like a keg, it’s going to hit these wires – and me – like a truck.”

“Whattaya want on yer tombstone?”

“Eureka? Ouch? No, listen – the arc reactor can take it and that’s where the wires are going. I wish we had a piece of plastic about a foot thick for me to sit my ass on, but that’s the breaks.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe you could just hold my hand? Actually, I’m kidding, I was going to ask you to notify my next of kin, but I sort of don’t have any. Pepper Potts, my Girl Friday – every day – notify her … if this doesn’t work?”

Creed snorted. “What’s with all tha safety switches in tha ‘off’ spot? That t’ squeeze out yer juice faster or just a really fancy way t’ punch yer own ticket? Gotta say, it ain’t trendsettin’ t’ off yerself t’ avoid me fuckin’ ya; be an innovator, not an imitator.”

“Uh, I was bluffing before; not my style to give up, no matter what dangers lurk. I switched them off because it’s going to be hooked up to something much smaller than a captured jet and the device doesn’t know the arc reactor can take it, so the safeties would end up killing the discharge.”

“Are ya ready? Ya better be. Lite-Brite’s gettin’ dodgy.”

“Yes, I have to be.”

“One serious offer o’ hand holdin’ goin’ once…”

Tony smiled. “I’d prefer you stayed where you are, lightning rod bones.”

“Awright, then.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

Tony didn’t answer right away, staring at his face. The eye was healing. It was like watching a film backwards of it being destroyed. “That is amazing…”

Creed shook his head a moment and growled. “Plug in, flyboy, before I hafta bury ya out here.”

Tony dropped his gaze and focused on the arc reactor, picking up the wires in one hand. He connected them and reached for the main switch on the device that would discharge the capacitor.

Glancing back up at Creed he said, “Pepper Potts, don’t forget.”

“Ya got this, hero. Do it.”

Tony closed his eyes and turned on the switch. The jolt hit like controlled lightning stabbing into his chest and he didn’t have time to wonder if he would feel pain. The arc reactor flared bright enough to make him wince, even with his eyes closed. It felt like the strangest sensation of being filled – until his cup ran over. It was almost … better than sex.

*****************************************************************

Victor growled, ignoring the instincts that spurred him to fight the thing and watched as the device appeared to fry the man alive. Stark exploded with breath when it let him go and laughed like a mad man. The thing of metal and odd smells in his chest was glowing – bright enough to light the tent.

With shaking fingers, Stark turned the device off and disconnected the wires from the reactor. He started to get up and weaved on his feet. Victor moved to hold his arms out, ready to catch him. The heavy fur got tangled up in his legs, making Stark stumble forward and slap his hands down on Victor’s chest.

Scenting the air and then the man, Victor felt the surprise of Stark’s desire spark and burn in his gut and against his hip where the pale cut cock jutted upward. Without a thought, Victor snarled in heat and crushed him closer before the man could even lift his head to meet his gaze.

Stark gasped, his hands dropping and fingers busy trying to open the shredded and bloodstained arctic pants. Victor popped a claw and opened up a seam until they fell in a heap.

“Bed, now, need it,” he spoke at Victor’s shoulder, his lips kissing a lump beneath the skin there where a crushed bullet was lodged.

Victor picked him up and laid him down on the cot bed in the fur coat, yanking it open to get skin on skin. He barely remembered to keep the bulk of his weight on one hand as he leaned in to kiss and lick down the athletic body. He was toned like a dancer with abdominal muscles, arms and legs built beautifully from carrying the weight of the metal suit. His scent drove Victor wild.

As soon as he could move them, Stark brought his knees up to frame Victor’s hips. “Come on,” he urged, “come on…”

Victor felt his foreskin pushed back by the smooth skin of Stark’s ass cheeks. The need flooding through his body could have torn the man open, but he shook his head and growled.

“No, won’t do that…” Stark cursed as he shifted and moved down but when Victor’s tongue struck his hole, he twitched and moaned. “Gonna make it good, promised not t’ hurt ya, Stark.”

“Please, just ... stick anything in me and then call me Tony, God…”

The words sparked a chuckle and with it, Victor regained control. “So yer finally givin’ me a nickname? Yer gonna be prayin’ by tha time ya get stuffed.”

His tongue circled and slapped the tight pucker of muscle and then the tip began to wriggle and stab inside it. Mindful of fangs, the broken one just as jagged sharp as the spear on the other side of his chin, he pushed his face closer, driving his strong tongue deep. He worked it easy but quick, soon able to slip a thick finger in and then two – before the man winced and shied from the stretch and pressure, breathing hard.

“If ya can’t take three fingers, ya can’t take me … Tony.”

“Let me breathe, let me get used to … ohhh, I want it…”

Victor grinned and worked the fingers, gentle and slow. His lube was in the locked steamer trunk – so much for fine planning.

“Do you have anything … to make it … easier?”

“I do, but it’s in tha trunk.”

Those beautiful brown eyes, wet with tears, opened and stared at him. “What are you waiting for?”

“Fer ya t’ end up changin’ yer mind tha minute I get off ya?”

“I need this and we’re going to need that.”

“Keep it warm fer me then.” Victor pulled his fingers free and backed off of the bed. He grabbed the silver lock and tore it off, breaking the hasp. Throwing the lid up, he snagged the plastic bottle with the battered label from a pile of clothes and weaponry and returned.

“Just slick it up and stuff it in.”

Victor lay beside him with slicked fingers and started with them, coaxing and stretching the muscle to accept two of them again. When the man stopped flinching, he readied a third. The first knuckle sank in but then the delicious drag began.

“Oh, wow, okay … I need a minute, right? Yeah, definitely need a minute.”

“Now I got my brain back, take yer time; I can play all night – day – whatever tha fuck it is…”

“No, no – had a minute, keep pushing in.”

Victor watched his face as he pushed more, steady but slow. Scissoring the fingers, he got his tongue involved again. The groan Stark gave him made him so hard it hurt.

“That’s two and a half, good enough. Come on, I want to feel the burn of that thing.”

“So ya top from tha bottom, huh? I like that.”

When he moved, Stark grabbed at the fur coat and pulled it up to bunch it under his lower back. Victor gave the rest of it a shove, enjoying the sight of the man lifting his hips for him. He got settled on his knees between the legs, slid his hands under Stark’s ass and hauled him to his aching cock. Smearing it generously with lube, he lined it up and pushed the head in without a pause.

“Oooh ... so that’s what it feels like,” Stark whispered. His eyes were open wide, his head thrown back.

As Victor pushed in deeper, the man’s hands were fisted in the blanket, his mouth opening in a silent cry. Just to tease him, he worked the head in and out.

“Oh my God...” Their eyes met and an abrupt shot of fear stink diluted Stark’s heat.

“Yer stuck now; I ain’t never got this far an’ quit. Gonna fuck ya ‘til I’m done.”

Stark swallowed hard and an expression Victor couldn’t define slowly morphed away to be replaced by some sort of bravado. “Do it, I want more...”

Victor growled low, pulled back, and pushed deep. It was hard to care if he was having second thoughts, but he wouldn’t injure the man. He kept it steady, watching Stark’s face as his body clenched. Bathed in blue light from the thing in his chest, he was beautiful in his struggle, stretched and skewered. He reached for the pretty cut cock as it began to leak milky fluid down the slanted heaving abdominals.

“Don’t,” Stark ordered, his tone making Victor’s upper lip curl in a snarl.

“What tha hell do ya think yer playin’ at, tellin’ me ‘don’t’?”

“I ... I want to come ... just from feeling you inside.” The startled and then hungry animal noises Victor made sparked a near hysterical laugh out of Stark. “Hello, new kink,” he muttered, trying to catch a breath.

Victor wanted to grope, stroke and suck that cock, and he knew it was the best way to distract the man from the brutal invasion of his body, but Stark’s words and scent told him he wanted it – wanted to feel exactly that. Even the brief fear stink was fading fast. With a fierce grin, Victor stopped trying to see how deep he could push and started applying some tricks.

His hands grasped under the knees and pulled Stark’s pelvis higher. Yanking his cock back, growling in pleasure at the man’s gasp, Victor began to thrust shallow and fast, holding the sweating body partially in the air. Only his hands were touching to hold him, as his cock pumped hard and relentlessly in. He watched, intent on the other man’s pleasure, as the body began to writhe.

“Don’t stop,” Stark told him with panting breaths.

“I can fuck fer days, pretty boy. Ya’d pass out, maybe even rupture an’ die, before I get tired.”

“It hurts... Oh, shit it really hurts.” Victor scented Stark’s rising distress but the man’s heat intensified with it. Moments before he was about to ease up, Stark pushed one word through gritted teeth, “Harder.”

Victor snarled; the sight of him, abused and wanting more, pushed his own pleasure to the limit. His hips pumped faster, the angle shifting to drive into the tender prostate.

“Scream fer me, Tony...”

Trying to watch his face and his leaking cock at once, Victor drew in his breath in a hiss when the pretty cock began to spout cum all over the heaving tight stomach. The moment it happened, Stark screamed, a sound of want and pain at once. Victor arched his back and let a roar split the air as he came, shoving his cock deeper to feel it shudder, clenched tight inside his trembling prize.

It was hard to breathe, stuffed deep in a grip that could have hurt if it didn’t feel so good. He would have preferred to stay there until he could start again, but that wasn’t likely to be his bedmate’s first pick. With pleasure spent and the almost mad passion burned away, Stark was in pain.

Brown eyes fluttering closed, he muttered through heaving breaths, “Can we, uh, disengage? Is there an eject switch? Oh, man…”

Victor lowered more of him to the bed, slow and careful as Stark winced. “Take a deep breath…”

Halfway through the indrawn breath, Victor pushed in just a hair and then began a steady pull back out. He had to hold the man still until he slipped free. Before Stark got any ideas, he stretched out on his side next to him and pulled him close.

“Nice capture maneuver, but I don’t plan to move for, oh, days.”

“Thought I wasn’t yer type.”

“You’re everyone’s type once you get going, right?”

Victor smirked and laid his head on his arm. “Damn straight.” Watching the pretty face as he rested and tried to slow his breathing, Victor leaned his head in and scented him.

“What’s with all the smelling, nuzzling and licking, serious question?”

“Nuzzlin’ an’ lickin’ ya’s just fun.” Grinning at the look that got him, he relented. “Part o’ me that’s a man would call it affection, possessiveness. My inner beast does it t’ build social bondin’, like yer high-fives, I guess, or sharin’ cigs an’ stories in a foxhole. With social bonds intact, tha soldiers know their chums’ll have their back when tha lead starts t’ fly. Scentin’ is like breathin’ t’ me. Ya can learn ‘bout stuff by studyin’ it, I can tell a lot by scent.”

“So what does my smell tell you? Besides, ‘crap, he needs a shower’?”

“Tells me yer gizmo is workin’ good, ya smell like me now, an’ ya ain’t so afraid o’ me no more, even if it was touch-an’-go a bit between strokes at tha start.”

“You are much better company in afterglow. The surly brutal killer act may be a great look for you, but it’s a lousy way to get a date. Is, uh, smelling like you a … good thing?”

“It’s a safer thing, fer ya. Ya don’t smell like a stranger, or an enemy.”

“All right, not a bad thing.” He closed his eyes again. “So fess up – why all the stalking me? Why me?”

“I gotta want-what-I-can’t-have fetish.”

“Oh, well, I guess I’m off that list now.”

“Still on tha ‘ya fascinate me’ list.” Victor nuzzled the side of his head, scenting the soft brunette hair.

“Now we get to the truth. Feel free to share my best qualities in your own words.”

“I deal with tha seek an’ destroy types, corporate greed, revenge whores – none o’ ‘em actually make any damn thing, ‘sides money. Ya create. I like tha ballsy moxy, too, but ya might be as big a narcissist as me.”

“The truth hurts.”

“Was gonna let ya off tha hook – why’d ya change yer mind?”

“Using the device like that, I had no idea how that would feel. It was like being fucked in the chest by a lightning bolt. Being filled that way – I just … needed more, to feel alive.” Stark opened his eyes and met his gaze. “Is that crazy? It felt insane. The growling is weirdly fetching. Plus, you cuddle – an unexpected bonus. Not that I’m much of a cuddler. I’m more of a ‘slip out of bed and let Pepper get rid of them while I hide in the workshop’ kind of guy…”

“Yer def a talker. I get it – I do that sometimes.”

“You have a ‘babble mode’? I would not have guessed that. You seem more like the brooding monosyllabic sort.”

“Not babble, more like tryin’ t’ annoy people who are tha broody one-word-per-day sort. I love tha sound o’ my own voice.” Victor licked up his throat and moved his hand to the man’s chest. It was strange to feel the tech interrupt the smooth flesh. He sniffed it again. “Palladium?”

“Uh, yes. You can smell that? You know what that smells like?”

“Yup. Ya call it an arc reactor?”

“Well, it’s a reactor, that arcs… Shouldn’t we be napped out by now? We’re dudes, right – guys? Guys pass out after sex. I read about it.”

“Mmm… Who says we’re ‘after sex’ yet?” Victor shifted and licked his collarbone, then ran his tongue over the reactor. “I read ‘bout yer capture, terrorists, all that.”

“Yeah? People died. I still have nightmares, all that.”

“Ya fought, ya survived. Now ya find people like that an’ ya take ‘em out.”

“I try. I try to make a difference.”

“Ya wanna nap out cuz ya think ya might be able t’ sneak off? I’d know tha second yer heartrate changed, before yer bludgeoned ass ever made it off tha bed. Plus, yer assumin’ ya could walk.”

“I wasn’t planning to be out in the field this long; the last time I was gone an unplanned amount of time, I nearly died. Kind of just like this time. Places to be, people to stop worrying.”

“One call solves that. Pepper Potts, right? Ya admitted ya owe me a lot.”

Stark studied him in silence for a few moments. “All this establishing social bonding… Why did you come out here? What haven’t you told me?”

“Too busy tryin’ not t’ die t’ see tha big picture?”

“It’s been a busy week.”

“That F-22 wasn’t modified t’ be a long-range flyer. Tha device is Hydra’s brandy new toy. I came out here fer a reason an’ I don’t give a rip ‘bout that hunk o’ metal. Do tha math, science boy.”

His eyes went wide, the mouth opening in surprise. Victor moved, leaned down and stuck his tongue in it. Stark stiffened at first, and then realized slowly that the kiss wasn’t injuring him. His hands lifted to touch Victor’s shoulders as he began to respond to it. A purr sparked in his chest and when he broke the kiss to duck down and lick erect nipples, Stark let out a laugh.

“You came here to destroy a Hydra base and saved me, hoping I’d help.”

“Science tech base, probly way smaller, could be doable. Thought later ya might help; saved ya hopin’ t’ get laid. That plan worked, so why not go two fer two.”

“So Hydra are the bad guys and … you’re not.”

“I’m just a capitalist doin’ a job. Cash paid fer services rendered, t’ be exchanged fer other goods an’ services.”

He ducked his head and swirled his tongue tip around a nipple, smirking when the man gasped.

“Assassin was a bad call … if you were a kinky escort, you’d be in my little black book by now.”

Victor grunted. “I’m a busy man, but I stop t’ smell tha roses. Fuckin’ Hydra over is one o’ my favorite stops. Finally got tha chance t’ rip t’ bits one o’ their best scientist-torturers, pile o’ smegma named Catalyst – that was personal – then got cheated outta it ... twice. He turns up like a bad penny, though, so ya ain’t gonna catch me skippin’ a shot at messin’ up a nest o’ Hydra science geeks – even if Catalyst really is dead. Took out one o’ their high an’ mighty overlords once, too – that was almost as good. Second time I killed ‘er, matter o’ fact, so hope springs eternal. Bitch had it comin’ in spades, don’t ya worry none ‘bout that.”

“Like this charmer…” Stark whispered, fingers touching his choker. “How old are you?”

“Creepin’ up on a hundred an’ fifty.”

“In the habit of rounding up, huh? Wow. Fit. You do yoga?”

“Nope.” Victor ran his tongue down the man’s body in loose swirls. He was almost hairless. The dark trail of hair that lead to the thicker thatch around the dick curled up wet under his tongue. “Gonna suck this, like it or not.”

“I’m a fan, when the mouth isn’t, uh, full of spikes…”

Victor chuckled. “Princess.”

He licked the hair wet on his ballsack, his tongue toying with the nuts inside until the dick woke up. Running his tongue up the bottom of the shaft, he set his few blunt front teeth against the coronal ridge and used his fluttering tongue to suckle and toy with the frenulum.

“Sandpaper shouldn’t feel that good down there.” Fingers touched his shoulders, tentative at first – then the hands gripped hard as Victor got down to business.

“Surprise, surprise,” he muttered, and then stuffed it down his throat between the fangs and sharp carnassials.

Working his throat with rhythmic swallows, he started up the vibration of a purr that threatened to pull Stark apart into a boneless mess of willing shock.

“Oh, crap, Victor… Can I call you Victor? Never stop doing that, I’m serious. I have nowhere else I need to be, like ever…”

He slipped a hand under the smooth ass and his fingers found the messy hole, touching and exploring what he’d done to it before. Stark shied from it, still sore and somewhat loose. Unable to resist, Victor sank one thick finger deep, curled it and rubbed that little miracle gland hiding behind vulnerable flesh.

The balls began to draw up tight, the cock massaged stiff in and out of his throat. He let Stark hold his head to push it in more. After one long shudder that ran down his spine, making his hackles along it rise, he allowed the man to cut off his airway entirely and fuck his throat. As his muscles started to tremble, the breathplay hardened his cock sharp and fast.

“Can you breathe?” Stark began to rise.

Victor’s free hand slapped down over the man’s chest, fingers turning the bright circle of blue light into sectioned beams overhead. Forcing himself to swallow and ignore his need for air, his fear of asphyxiation, Victor worked the cock harder. He closed his eyes, his ears pinning back. Instinct clawed at him to bite, to stop the blockage.

“Take it,” Stark ordered, his breathing ragged. “You can have air when you swallow it all.”

A snarl tried to tear through him, but he had no air to create it. The words sank into his brain, peeling his foreskin back with heat.

His bedmate forgot about the fangs and tried to push and shove at Victor’s head to get deeper inside. The razor tip of the unbroken lower fang caught in flesh and scratched a shallow slice. Exploding under Victor’s nose, the scent of fresh blood almost tore his mind away. His jaw ached to close and tear his head free as the urgent need for air and blood made him shiver.

Stark cried out, his buried cock shuddering into release as the salty-sweet cum filled Victor’s throat and mouth. He swallowed it down greedily, backing off of it to get more on his tongue long before he finally allowed his body to gulp air. Breathing through his nose again, he stuffed the cock nearly to the back of his tongue once more just to suck out every drop he could get.

Holding the white mess in his mouth, Victor slipped his tongue out through closed lips and licked the blood from the scratch. With cum and blood in his mouth, Victor flopped to his back, ignoring his aching dick.

He was so surprised when Stark sat up, shrugged out of the coat, and straddled his hips, that he almost growled at the man. One small but strong hand pressed right to his throat over the choker.

“I want to feel you swallow that,” Stark said, holding his gaze. Victor did it, pressing it against the roof of his mouth first and then swallowing as the hand stroked, pressed, and felt the muscles move. “Wow,” he whispered, eyes darting to study Victor’s face and body. “Okay, yeah,” he added. “This is happening.”

Victor arched an eyebrow at him and then sucked in a breath when Stark reached behind to grab his stiff dick roughly. He rose up on his knees and gripped it harder to stuff the head, flushed and leaking pre-cum, inside his body. He winced, but his scent was thick with heat again.

“Fuck,” Victor muttered and groaned.

“We’re going to play ‘just the tip’. Right?”

“Whatever tha fuck ya want, Stark, just go ahead an’ do it.”

“Tony,” he corrected, smiling down at him. “You may have noticed that I figured out that you respond to bossy. Let me guess ... if you’re getting what you want, you like to be told what to do in bed – maybe more than you like being the boss. Hmm?”

“Yeah…”

“Yes, Tony – right?” Stark grinned.

“Yes, Tony.” A wicked smirk split Victor’s face.

“Well… All right, then. This is going to be fun.”

Victor lifted his hands over his head, claws stabbing into the top of the cot mattress. He watched the man avidly as he began to post on the head of his dick. Soon enough, he was taking more than the tip, but Victor resisted the urge to arch his hips and fuck up into him deep. It was better to let him control the pace, to not know what would happen and just let him play, let him take.

Somewhere along the way of exhausted muscles and sore hole, Stark remembered what he’d been told about Victor not tiring. They were both pouring sweat, but Victor’s body wasn’t winded; the heat in the tent had been turned up for his guest and it was hotter than he needed.

Stark bent down and set his hands on Victor’s chest. “Fuck me,” he whispered, “just like this – don’t stop until you’re done.”

Victor didn’t hesitate, but worked to keep it easy and shallow. The pace and care might have taken a long time to make him blow, but he had the expression on the man’s face to inspire him, as Stark bit his lower lip and moaned. There was something Victor wanted to see and he used that to spur him faster. He watched Stark’s face until he was close and then dropped his gaze to the shaft of his cock thrusting the head in and out.

He growled and hissed when it hit him, fighting the urge to punch his cock deep. He kept thrusting as cum burst inside and then got what he wanted – the delicious sight of his cum dripping and sliding down his shaft out of that beautiful body.

Stark gave a broken groan, his head hanging down. “That is so dirty hot,” he muttered. “God, I need a drink – or seven.”

Victor slapped his thigh and he yelped in protest. “Get up, lie on yer back. I got just tha thing.” When he didn’t move, Victor picked him up bodily and pulled him off of his dick. Laying him down, he got up and fetched his single malt and another pillow from the trunk. He lifted Stark’s shoulders and piled the pillows under him. “Drink up; I’m gonna clean ya up.”

“Glenfiddich? You are a saint.” He winced again when Victor moved a leg, put his body between them and set the small feet on his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can handle that being touched right now, or for maybe a year.”

“Sure ya can. I’ll keep most o’ tha sandpaper off it.”

He started by lapping at the mess all over the stomach – that perfect cum and sweat cocktail that locked the man’s taste and scent into his brain. The fang scratch had hardly bled, which was a shame, but this one wasn’t likely to be into blood sport.

“I can’t tell if that hurts or if it’s making it feel better,” he said when Victor began to lick at his hole. “Hands down, oddest rim job I have ever had. Prep is one thing … this is – a bit weird.”

“Ain’t gotta shower – would ya rather sleep sticky?”

“Excellent point – carry on, wayward son. Do you want any of this? Handing it to me, well … I won’t be held responsible for its safety.”

“I got more. Knock yerself out, flyboy. Got what I want right here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I had no idea how delicious it was going to be to write this pairing. I already knew I wanted to do a Victor/Tony story when I wrote their phone calls into my Sabretooth/Tabitha story "Redemption", way long ago, but it seemed a bit daunting at the time – never say never.
> 
> The correlation between Victor’s nuzzling, licking, and scenting habits and social bonding is from research into the behavior of lions. Studies have discovered that grooming and wound care are some of the ways lions in a pride create close social bonds. The phrase “carry on, wayward son” is a reference to lyrics from the Kansas song by the same name. Most people know common military and civilian acronyms such as CYA (Cover Your Ass), so I won’t explain them often, but for the unaware, an MRE (Meal Ready to Eat) is a meal in a box for soldiers. Some survivalists buy them and stock up, so they aren’t solely for military use. - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	3. Social Bonding

Time, time, time, see what’s become of me  
while I looked around for my possibilities  
I was so hard to please

But look around  
leaves are brown  
and the sky is a hazy shade of winter

Oh hang on to your hopes, my friend  
That’s an easy thing to say but if your hopes should pass away  
simply pretend that you can build them again

Look around  
The grass is high, the fields are ripe  
It’s the springtime of my life

Oh … seasons change with the scenery  
weaving time in a tapestry  
won’t you stop and remember me?

~ Hazy Shade of Winter (Simon and Garfunkel)

*****************************************************************

Tony woke at the sound of a low and growling voice cursing right next to him in a devastated mess of a camp bed. His predicted hangover swooped in, the headache pounding at his temples and forehead. The glass of the empty bottle was warm at his hip. On the other side of him, the furry fanged monster he’d been copulating with was still very disturbingly real.

For some reason, he had a few of his fingers in his mouth, digging at his jaw with claws out. Another curse and growl, and blood ran down cut fingers.

_Well, statistically, the blondes I’ve picked up do tend to be the most trouble..._

Tony wanted to roll over and cover his aching head with a pillow, but he couldn’t. The monster wasn’t so scary anymore and seeing him in distress was upsetting.

 _Huh, social bonding. Son of a bitch._ “What are you doing and can I help?” When he got ignored, he decided he wasn’t going to put up with that. He sat up and got growled at for touching the man’s shoulder and loose hair, but he touched anyway. “Victor, stop; talk to me. What are you doing, besides cutting your fingers up?”

One of the amber cat eyes slanted to look at him, the fingers paused. Tony sighed, grasped a wrist gently and gave it a tug. The eye narrowed, but allowed it. Folding like a playing card house a moment later, he slumped where he sat and let Tony bring his hands down to his lap. The mouth and fingers dripped blood a moment until the cuts healed and only the spilled blood on skin and lip remained.

_Social bonding experiment, mark 1: it’s bound to work both ways. Okay. Healing factor, so I bet he can’t carry a disease. Good thing, glass half full, since I broke my no barebacking vow already. Here goes…_

Tony rose up on his knees, brought his face in close and ignored the growl. When he licked at the blood on the lip, the growl changed. It sounded like an engine switching gears. Lifting the large hand in his, he ran his tongue over the thick fingers and licked the blood drops away.

Looking up at the feral’s face, he refused to allow his body to shudder. He was reasonably sure he wouldn’t hurt him, not intentionally. The fang scratch last night had proven that accidents would have to be watched out for, but still. Holding the hand in his, he pulled it to his chest. The fingers shifted immediately to touch the reactor.

“Tell me what you’re doing, Victor. Let me help.”

“Gotta get tha broken one out.” His voice was barely a whisper. Tony was surprised to hear fear in his tone.

“Why do you need to? Won’t it just heal?”

“A broken fang takes too long t’ fix. Tear it out, let a new one grow in, it’ll be back t’ normal pretty quick.”

“Okay. I’m going to ask a possibly odd question, humor me?” When he got a nod, he asked, “Is it a ‘form and function’ need, or a personal ‘I can’t go out like this’ need? Either is perfectly fine.”

“Both.”

“All right, here’s the thing: I need to apologize to you.”

“What tha fuck fer?”

“For freaking out and not being able to look at you much when you were hurt. I’m not a medical type, trained to deal, none of that. I can fix a lot of stuff, but I couldn’t help you and it made me feel like shit because you’d just saved my life for the second time. So, I’m sorry for that.” Tony took a deep breath. “You broke that off taking bullets for me. I’m not used to people doing that, caring about me. There’s maybe … three people … that do.”

“Pepper an’…?”

“Harold ‘Happy’ Hogan, my chauffeur/bodyguard, is my number two. Last but not least, there is a very game for adventure colonel, James Rhodes, who puts up with a lot of crap from me and still comes through for me. Three is a depressingly short list.”

“Damn. Even I gotta longer list than that.”

“Don’t rub that in and we’ll get along just fine. What’s the problem and how can I help? I thought those claws could cut anything.”

“Can’t cut it, gotta pull it. I got … issues with pullin’ teeth. It’s too short t’ grab an’ pull an’ I can’t –”

“It’s okay, we’ll figure it out,” Tony broke in. His upset was strange to see. It turned into anger to cover fear so fast that he might have missed it and just recoiled. _How many people do that? Most of them, I bet._ “So you have issues with this, but I know some of your tools can do the trick, if I help you.”

“If it comes t’ puttin’ pliers in my mouth, ya shouldn’t be within fifty feet o’ me.”

“No pliers, got it. Have you ever had to do this before, alone?”

“Coupla times.”

“How did you do it then?”

“It was long ‘nuff t’ grab. Roughed it up t’ loosen, an’ then yanked.”

“Hmm. The root goes pretty deep, right?”

“Yup.”

“Idea. Tools are easier, but this way, you can just use a claw and if it happens again, you can do this, even if you’re alone. May I touch it?”

“Yeah…”

Tony leaned in to look. He studied the other fang to see what was what and noticed they were serrated on the inside curve.

_Ouch. I can’t believe I let him stick my dick in here – can’t believe I’d let him again, either._

Fingertips on the intact fang, he pushed the bottom lip out of his way to feel the root through the gumline. The broken side was the same; the shafts of the roots were housed in their own sockets at a heavier part of the jawbone. Tony felt the jaw move slightly as a shudder struck through the powerful muscles attached to it, but he decided it might be safer not to mention it.

 _It couldn’t just be a thorn in his paw, had to be one of these nightmarish brute fangs... Well, the thorn pulls always turn the beast into a pet, so here goes._ “Do you have any metal wire, strong, maybe a foot of it?”

“Got steel barb wire. Don’t ask.”

“Wasn’t going to. You can cut the barbs off, so good, that’ll work. Fetch me that and if you have any aspirin, I’d bomb a hundred Hydra bases for you.”

“Med kit’s in Tucker’s tent.”

“I could grab that, quick nip over in shoes and fur coat –”

“Tucker’s in there, too, with tha rest o’ ‘em.”

“You can grab that, quick nip over…”

Smiling, the mutant leaned in and kissed him. Tony responded to it without a thought. He gingerly touched one or two of the teeth with the tip of his tongue before Victor pulled away.

“Careful doin’ that – could end up with a forked tongue. Stay warm, I’ll be quick.”

Tony did flop over and drag a pillow onto his head when his companion left the tent. He wasn’t gone long enough for a nap. Victor sat beside him and a hand stroked down his back. Tony winced and grunted when the pads of two fingers slid down his crack and touched his sore sphincter.

 _Possessively,_ he thought. “Off-limits please,” he muttered under the pillow.

“Got yer pills, pretty boy.”

That got him up. _A bottle of aspirin and a canteen – heaven._ “Thanks, honey.”

Victor grunted. “Takin’ off barbs, what else?”

“Two-strand?”

“Yup.”

“We only need one.” Tony gulped pills with salted water and watched Victor settle in the chair, naked and unselfconscious, with a coil of barb wire. One shiny claw popped and began to ready the wire. “How did the metal get onto your bones?”

“Weapon X Program, among other freaks. Not a fun experience, any method they’ve used. No idea how they did it, science shit; ya’d probly understand it better’n me. Wasn’t coherent – or sane – fer most o’ it though. Pretty brutal level o’ non-elective surgery from what I’ve gathered.”

“Not a favorite topic?”

“Nope. Foot long?”

“Yes.”

“Are ya hungry? Ya gotta get bundled up if ya want tha latrine. Brought in some extra gear o’ Gorman’s, still got tha tags on it. Dunno if ya’d fit ‘is boots.”

“Hungry isn’t the issue.”

“Head splittin’ from booze ain’t never been a prob o’ mine.”

“Jealous, like I said.”

“Ya wouldn’t like it much – can’t get drunk. ‘Spose if I applied myself an’ brought ‘nuff hard sauce, I could try. Never really saw tha point, I guess. Wouldn’t last an’ it don’t fix nothin’.”

“Why do you travel with a case of single malt whiskey, then?”

Victor shrugged. “I like tha taste. Here’s yer wire, whatever tha fuck we’re doin’ with it. Almost afraid t’ ask.”

“Feel free to call me crazy, but you’re going to use your claw to make a hole in the tooth – as close to the jawline as you can get, under the gumline, if you can cope with that. String the wire through, and then you have a handle you can use to loosen and pull it out.”

“Not as crazy as my next idea. I was ‘bout t’ go outside an’ shoot it off.”

“Uh, no, we’re not doing that. This will work; all you need is a way to grip it to pull.”

“Awright, then. Ain’t gotta watch, since yer squeamish.”

“I really appreciate that.” Lying back down, he closed his eyes. His hand brushed Victor’s lower back and on impulse, he stroked the line of longer fur there.

“This is still gonna suck,” Victor muttered. “Talk, huh? Tell me somethin’. Don’t care what.”

“Talk.” Tony rested a forearm over his brow to block the light of heaters, lamp, and reactor. Thoughts on a few ugly revelations concerning Chicago immediately swamped his aching head. _Not smart to bring that mess up without the suit on and weapons at the ready... My kingdom for a safer topic?_ “Oh, I found that leak in corporate sales, as you called it. Fixed that.”

He worked on ignoring the noises going on beside him. The play of the muscles under the fur he was petting reminded him of the bulk of the man he was in bed with, his weight dipping the cot mattress down and making Tony list over a bit.

“I actually do appreciate the whistle-blowing on my stuff,” he added, aware he was starting to babble. “I sleep easier knowing the bad guys don’t have my weapons – when I do manage to sleep, that is.”

They’d slept curled up together after he had gotten blissfully smashed. He’d giggled drunkenly when he realized Victor purred when he fell asleep, woke the man, and grinned as he was groused at and threatened – he could tell the words held no anger.

_The ugly truth is, I’m not still in his bed just because I have to be anymore. Also, without the suit on, I can’t do much if I piss him off. Start chunking under-the-bed skeletons at his head and risk getting eaten, or drop it and discuss from a safe distance later. Lost the moral high ground anyway – I knew it was him before I wanted him to suck my toenails off the hard way. The only reason to bring up Chicago now is to ask why. Why he did it, and … why he stopped._

He winced at the sound of the claw boring a hole in the base of the tooth. One of those claws had pricked at the corner of his mouth and dug a shallow puncture into his wrist; he had thought it was a short curved knife. The memory of describing the weapon to the mutant over the phone, asking him to hunt his assailant – it made him angry in the same instant that it made his guts flip.

 _Do I really need to hear why he did it? Classic stalking escalation. Maybe he stopped because of Pepper and Rhodey?_ Tony sighed. _Fact:_ _I intensely wanted sex with him last night and if honesty matters at all … I know I want more._

The anger faded under a vague feeling of shame and confusion. Yet shame was rare for him and confusion was usually reserved for trying to figure out regular people.

_Victor Creed is a far cry from ‘regular’, and there’s still that pesky ‘no armor or weapons’ problem at the moment..._

Frowning, not wanting to deal with any of it, he pushed it all away. The next words were out of his mouth before he could marvel at how insane they were.

“If you’re ever in Malibu, you should see my house. As ‘things I’ve dragged home’ goes, you’d take the cake. Of course, if you’ve been stalking me, you’ve probably already seen it…”

He could hear the wire being threaded through the fang stump and the sound made him shudder. He kept his eyes closed and continued to pet the odd but soothingly soft fur. A sickening crack sounded and the muscles under his fingers clenched and shifted as Victor snarled.

“Did you get it?”

Opening his eyes and struggling to sit up, he stared at the broken tooth as it was held out, hanging on the wire like a necklace. The root of it was almost as long as the fangs were and it must have hurt like mad.

“Problem solved. Want some of the aspirin? I guess there isn’t anything really good in there, like codeine; if there is, you have to share with me,” he said, studying the face as the mutant turned to him. Victor looked weirdly lopsided with one bottom fang.

“‘Preciate tha assist,” he muttered. He slung the tooth on the wire into the sled. “Drugs don’t work on me, neither.” They were both quiet a while as the mutant watched him drink from the canteen. When he spoke again, the gruff low voice had softened. “Why’d ya lick my blood?”

“Taking a stab at social bonding?”

“Most folks wouldn’t start there.”

“I’m a ‘take the lion by the horns’ kind of guy.”

“Guess a man willin’ t’ strap homemade rockets t’ ‘is feet would hafta be. Pills workin’ yet?”

“Not really.”

“Here, sit in front o’ me.” Victor moved behind him as Tony knee-walked out of his way. He sat with his huge muscled legs on either side of Tony’s hips. “Sit back, ass against my crotch, lean forward.”

“Trust games are so fun with a hangover.”

“Not tryin’ t’ fuck ya. Friend o’ mine used t’ get migraines when she was younger. Taught me how t’ help ‘er.” When Tony leaned forward, the thick fingers came up around his throat, shoulders, and the base of his skull, the broad smooth pads working into his taut muscles.

“Okay, thank her for me later. That feels good.” He set his hands on his thighs and breathed deeply. “Tell me about her.”

“I call ‘er Momma; she’s an old woman now, but known ‘er since she was a kid. She was in a Japanese brothel when we met, a trick baby, lived there all ‘er life. She’d been in trouble fer disobeyin’, got caned fer it often, an’ was ‘sposed t’ wash tha customers an’ make sure they didn’t have no diseases.”

“Um, what? Can I shoot these people?”

“World ain’t got just yer own brand o’ militant baddies, ya know. I’d remind ya this was a long time ago, but fact is that shit is always goin’ on in some dank corner o’ tha globe. Sometimes it’s goin’ on right under folk’s noses in sleepy li’l Yank towns, too. Trick babies been treated like that fer millennia, probly.”

“Geez. This story needs dead creeps. Go on, sorry.”

“Place was jumpin’ that night, but they had no clue what t’ do with me, so they decided t’ feed ‘er t’ me. I don’t do kids. It pissed me off. By tha time I was done with tha assholes that ran tha joint, she became tha new madam. I bought it, my tab eventually made ‘er tha owner, an’ we’re still friends. Ended up lovers, but she was grown by then. So ya got yer dead creeps.”

“I like happy endings. You keep in touch?”

“Yup. She taught me a lot, in bed an’ out.” With a chuckle in Tony’s ear, he added, “She calls me ‘Baby Sweets’. Anybody else tried t’, I’d be wearin’ their guts fer a tie.”

“I’ll stick with ‘honey’.” Tony moved his hands over to the legs that bracketed his. Below the knee, they were covered with more soft blonde fur; the thighs had fur that followed the muscle groups.

“This Pepper – do ya fuck ‘er?”

“Uh, no… It’s complicated.”

“One o’ those, huh? Yeah, I’ve slipped outta tha noose o’ one or two o’ those.”

Breathing in deeply and letting it out slow, Tony felt the tension leaking away under those strong fingers.

 _My head might have a shot at unclenching after all._ “That’s so much better, thanks.”

Victor’s hands dropped down. One slid around to press lightly on his stomach, the other over the arc reactor. He laid his chin on Tony’s shoulder and sighed.

Tony waited for the confining embrace to disturb him, but the feeling faded quickly. The horror of the arc reactor, and himself, being so weak haunted him. The terror of Gorman holding his life in his hands was all too fresh. On the other side of that, what Victor had endured and done to save him, again, abruptly left him feeling weirdly safe.

_Wow. I feel safe with the mutant cannibalistic necrophiliac assassin who sexually assaulted me, lied about it to me, and promised to hunt and kill … himself – to help me feel ‘safe’. If JARVIS were hearing this, he’d be all British about it – and Pepper would freak. I’d like to freak – but being close to someone after all that … feels good. Except for my pounding skull – that doesn’t feel good, even if it is less now, but my neck is going to knot up again from the odd cuddle angle…_

After a moment, Tony nudged Victor back so he could lean more comfortably against his chest, his head tucked under the mutant’s jaw. His furry couch seemed to think that meant hands off, but Tony took his wrists and put the hands back. He had no idea why the mutant liked to touch the arc reactor so much, but it abruptly bothered him less.

“I hate headaches; hey, if drugs are useless on you, then when they bonded the Adamantium to your bones ... oh, God... It has to be heated to 1,500 degrees Fahrenheit to melt it to a liquid state for casting… No wonder you can take the punishment that you do and just ... deal.”

“Ain’t nothin’ ya need t’ worry ‘bout.”

“I’m still going to say I’m sorry they did that. I had to carry a car battery around in a cave, attached to a magnet in my chest. I still have nightmares, but … I may … pass out on you.”

“I still get ‘em too ... just means we’re tough sonsabitches. Plenty folks in tha same sitch gave up an’ took a dirt nap; we’re still here. Sleep it off – I’ll keep watch.”

~ ~ ~

The tongue licking up the side of his throat didn’t bother him as much anymore, either. Taking stock, he noted that the headache was almost gone. Warm breath over his cheek was the only warning he got before soft lips pressed against his. The purr kicked in when he smiled under the kiss. Tony opened his mouth and let the mutant kiss him, deep and soft. When the lips moved to his jaw, he felt the brush of only one thick fang on his skin. He opened his eyes cautiously, happy to discover that the light in the tent didn’t hurt his head.

“I don’t usually do ‘morning after’, did I mention that? It’s actually weird to wake up with the same person I fell asleep with.”

A large hand covered the reactor, dimming the tent until only the orange light of the heaters remained. When it moved, the light was bisected on the tent ceiling by the lips as he kissed the face of it and then licked it.

“That’s new; nobody ever licked it before you came along.” The mutant turned his head and laid it over the reactor. The weight of him pressing his chest down felt confining and comforting at once. _Clearly, I’ve gone insane – need to stick to the agenda…_ “What are we going to do about the alleged Hydra ‘science tech’ base?”

“Gotta figure out where it is, first.” The blonde’s head lifted and he continued his migration down Tony’s body, licking his abdomen along each of the muscles. Fingers kneaded his hip and then worked under him to squeeze his ass.

Tony hissed when a thick finger nudged and pushed inside his body. “That is … okay, ouch … way too tender.”

“Wouldn’t be if ya’d lemme open ya up proper in tha first place.”

“It was so much fun, though.” Tony smiled at the pleased-sounding growl that won him. “Those noises … that really is ridiculously hot. I’m going to end up jerking off to nature shows about lions, now. Your fault.”

“Ain’t gotta jerk nothin’ with me ‘round.”

He was about to answer but yelped instead as he was batted onto his stomach by one huge hand. Fingers spread him and the tongue worked inside.

“Does ‘too tender’ mean ‘go ahead’ where you’re from?”

The tongue withdrew. “Yer dick ain’t gripin’. Get up on all-fours.”

“All-what?”

“Hands an’ knees.”

Hesitation got him manhandled into the requested position. “Do I have Mattel tattooed on the back of my neck?”

“Quit yer bitchin’.” The tongue buried itself deep again as a large hand reached around and gripped his hardening dick.

“Crap … that really feels good. Uh … shouldn’t I fly a recon and see if I can spot the base? It’s the fastest way … to find it, oh man…”

His head dropped and he watched the hand working his dick. Silvery metal needles, the points of the claws, peeked out abruptly from fast-healing cuts in those broad blank and smooth fingertips. He didn’t want to think about Chicago. The mission to recover the Hydra tech was better – the mere thought of the claw that had cut the metal cylinder to free the device made him harder.

The mutant’s weight shifted and Tony knew what was about to happen. He tried to care, but it fell apart in his thoughts. Lube-slick fingers joined the tongue and then the tongue licked up his spine. The stretch began and he wondered if it would hurt less than before or more.

“Tony?” The low voice was gruff again, hungry – but at least he was being given the ghost of a choice.

The worry that Victor might ignore it if told no turned into an utterly new hunger, a phenomenon he didn’t want to analyze one bit. Black and white facts were better – no gray area, no problem. Blonde hair covered his back. If the tent was Hell, then the Devil was amazing in bed.

“Do it, I want it … but, go easy, okay?”

His only answer was the thick cock piercing his body. It hurt a little, the burn was there, but he’d taken the time to open him more. Under other circumstances, he’d have been annoyed at the excess of lube, but now he was grateful for it.

“Recon after,” Victor whispered over his back. “Once ya get that shell on, I’m bettin’ that’ll be tha end o’ our date.”

“Don’t talk, honey – just growl at me. That sexy ‘you’re mine, you pretty thing’ growl really gets me there.”

*****************************************************************

A momentary regret for lost chances, wishing he could have mounted this pretty piece immediately, was quick to fade. Willing was better for a toy like this – safer in the long run, too.

Victor thrust shallow and slow, lazily working the man’s body into a lust to match his. Possessive growls made Stark shiver, as did his tongue on the man’s back and his hand on that luscious cock between trembling legs.

“Could you really do this until I fell dead on my face?”

“Yup. Wanna try fer it?”

“Uh, no, just enjoying the insane thought of it. God, yes, okay, harder…”

Victor snapped his hips and immediately moved his free hand to the reactor to hold the man upright. After a moment, he hauled him up and pinned him against his chest. Instinct sent his open mouth right to the join of shoulder and neck, the tongue licking it.

“Ain’t felt nothin’ like my bite, I bet.” Victor smiled against his skin at the expected fear scent that abruptly mixed with the man’s heat. “We got tha med kit right there an’ I know what I’m doin’.”

“You decapitated…”

Victor chuckled low in his ear and loved the lustful shudder that ran through his bedmate. “Just a love nip – only gonna make three holes right now, be four again soon ‘nuff…”

“Points for grasping the concept of asking first, but…”

“Don’t gotta ask, ya know. Could just take – could breed ya raw an’ bite ya in choice places, drink ya down…” His hand moved from the reactor and his fingers traced the man’s sweating body. “If I didn’t care if ya woke up ever, I’d pop claws an’ start diggin’ fer tha best bits, make ya a fuck an’ a meal at once. Not a fuckin’ thing ya could do t’ stop it.”

The man’s hands fell onto Victor’s thighs, the fingers kneading the muscles as he gasped and trembled.

“Bit o’ a danger whore, ain’t ya, pretty boy?”

“After the jet and Gorman, what you did for me … I may be insane, but I – I trust you…”

“Maybe ya shouldn’t.”

“Do it. When I come, bite… Oh, shit…”

Victor gauged their responses and began to thrust up into him harder, deeper. He set his fangs over the right shoulder and actually felt the man stretch his torso to make them prick his skin. The moment he shouted out and his cum spurted over Victor’s fingers, the fangs sank in. Blood rushed into his mouth and he sucked at it. When he swallowed, he began to cum. Pulling back a fraction, he sliced the bite in again and sucked the blood harder.

Trapped in his embrace, Tony let out a strangled scream, his body writhing against him. Victor withdrew his fangs and set his tongue to the punctures as his hips slowed. All too soon, it was over.

He lifted the man’s body off of his spent cock, heedless of the mess, and laid him down on his side. Curling up against his back and ass, he began to lick gently at the bite wound to clean it. One arm slipped around Tony, the hand pressing to the reactor in his chest. They were both a slick disaster and it would all cool into a tacky glue, but Victor didn’t care. He’d bitten deep enough to scar the man and the wounds had to be tended.

“Any minute now,” Tony whispered, “some stodgy British guy is going to start narrating this. ‘Then the male lion grooms his mate as they’ – uh, something I said?”

Victor reluctantly stopped holding him so tight, the involuntary purr stuttering out in confusion. “Nothin’,” he muttered and went back to licking until the punctures stopped bleeding.

He got up and fetched the medical kit, sitting up away from him to treat and bandage the bite. As soon as it was done, he started to get up, intending to head for the chair.

“Thanks. Hey – sit.” Staring down at the hand that gripped his wrist to prevent him from getting up, Victor sat. The hand tugged lightly. “Come on, relax. I can’t fly after all that without a breather, unless you have a sling in that kit for my ass. I may not be much of a cuddler, but pillow talk is cool. Pillow strategic planning is even better.”

Victor allowed himself to be coaxed into lying next to him on his back. “Ya wanna call yer Girl Friday?”

“I’d have to get up and dig for my phone, hope it’s still where I put it…”

“I put it with mine; it’s in tha lockbox on tha sled. Ya thought o’ everythin’ with that suit, didn’t ya?”

“It pays to be prepared. Can I talk you into fetching it for me?”

With a grunt, Victor got up. He found his keys in the mess on the table and went to the front of the sled. Fishing out both phones, he tossed the keys back on the table. Handing over Tony’s, he sat back down and checked his messages.

“Wow, we have a signal out here?”

“I gotta fancy box out in tha rig that gets me a signal any-damn-where.” After a beat, he glanced over at Tony’s suspicious frown and smirked. “Meant t’ call ya ‘bout it, was gonna blow a whistle an’ everythin’ – then I ended up comin’ out here an’ it became practical t’ wait.”

“Uh-huh. So you went to my suite after I left and caught the thief’s trail?”

“Nope. It cropped up on tha black market like ya said it would. I found tha seller an’ retrieved it. He wouldn’t give up where he got it, though – not fer lack o’ bein’ inspired t’ spill ‘is guts.”

“You are a piece of work.”

“Didn’t mess with yer weird-ass phone – oughta get points fer that.”

As he turned the phone on, Tony tipped a dubious look at him. “Incorrect, but thanks for playing. I have an alert that someone tried to get into it around the time I was unconscious in a seal tunnel. At least we know it wasn’t the seal.”

“Can’t blame a fellow fer tryin’. However tha fuck ya encrypted an’ boobytrapped it impressed tha shit outta me. I gotta laptop that can zap tha unauthorized. We should compare notes sometime.”

“That is highly unlikely.” He twisted the top screen up to reveal silver buttons that Victor hadn’t been able to get to. Holding the now T-shaped device, he hit a speed dial key and put it up to his ear. “Avoiding a video chat, for now…”

“Video chat? What else does it do, fly?”

“I’m not sure that would be practical. Let’s not let her know I have company?”

Victor frowned. “Shuttin’ up.”

“I hope it isn’t three in the morning in Malibu.”

“Ain’t gotta clock on that thing? Bet ya can do tha math fer tha time zones.”

“Funny. Didn’t look, doesn’t matter – she worries.”

“I bet she does.”

“Don’t be jealous, honey.” Tony winked at him, holding up a finger against his lips.

Victor snorted. He scrolled through texts from his banker, replied to one, and then sighed. At the bottom was a text consisting of a typically brief scrawl in German: ‘Kommen wir zurück zu Berlin?’ _A week old, he may not even be there by now. This is tha price o’ assumin’ Obinata’s tha only one who texts me._ He tapped out with the edge of one finger that he’d be another week and asked where he was.

“Hi,” Tony spoke beside him, his tone turning brighter. “No, not in Greenland now, yes, I left my stuff. They shipped it back there? Okay… Not wild about the vote of confidence, but it is what it is. I’m fine … I promise, I’m … with a friend. Actually, soon, I hope, but there’s something we need to do here first. Ah … Arctic Circle. I’m in a tent. No, we have industrial military heaters, it’s like Shangri-La. Hey, what time is it there? Oh, ouch, sorry… Listen, I got to go, you need way more sleep, I’ll be careful. Um … no one you know? Right. You got it.” He clicked the call off, twisted the screen back down over the buttons one-handed, and tossed the phone onto his stomach.

“If ya wanna be covert ‘bout tha unsavory comp’ny yer keepin’ an’ not make tha skirt worry, cut out tha ‘um’ – dead giveaway.”

“‘Skirt’? Nice misogyny you have there. So recon flights – I’m not keen on running afoul of another power-zapping device. Is my new toy an only child? It sounded like you had some stolen intel before.”

“All that’s in Gorman’s tent next door. Should be tha only one.”

“It’s dark all the time anyway, so I’ll have that for cover.” Picking up the phone again, he sat up with a grunt and fiddled with it.

“Gonna be darker soon. Polar twilight is ‘bout t’ turn int’ polar night.”

“I’m stocked up on munitions, just couldn’t use them on the power I had left. You’re out of Grinch missiles.”

“Stashed others here with a backup launcher, just didn’t have ‘em out there. Got bigger toys in camp – hell, I gotta tank killer mounted on tha rig.”

“So ‘be prepared’ could be our team motto.” Tony was watching him as Victor stared at the blank screen of his phone. “Turn your head that way.”

Victor did, eyebrow arched up, and then growled when the man snapped a photo, wincing from the flash. “What tha fuck are ya doin’?”

“I wanted a picture to put on your contact. The one I got from INTERPOL was grainy.” He checked it. “Ooo, spooky by arc reactor light. I got your fang side.”

“Yer secretly a toddler, ain’t ya?”

“Oh, it’s just a bit of fun, grumpy. You can take one of me. Then you’d have a real photo instead of just cutting my face out of magazines to add to your creepy collage on the wall somewhere, right? Did I make the creepy stalker-killer wall? That would be so much cooler than People’s Sexiest Man Alive.”

“Ain’t gotta wall collage.” Smirking at him, Victor turned on his phone again and found the photo album marked STARK. Holding it up, he scrolled through the images and chuckled as the man fell silent. “Do ya remember any o’ those moments? Ya were drunk fer most o’ ‘em.”

“How did you get that one of me with Pepper?”

“Yer kiddin’, right? Limos, hotels, casinos, red carpets … yer easy t’ catch. Hellfire, yer lucky tha rag mags can’t afford me. Gotta few o’ Girl Friday – usually handin’ ya somethin’ ya wouldn’t take from somebody else.”

“I told you, it’s a … quirk…”

“I sure got ya trained in a hurry t’ lemme hand ya stuff.”

“A survival situation is no place for quirks.”

He fell silent again as Victor fiddled with the phone, held it up, and then gripped his chin in finger and thumb.The long curling metal-coated claws grew right under his nose.

“Say cheese, pretty boy.” The camera snapped and Victor chuckled. “Now that’s a nice one. Tha light glints offa my claws under yer mug just perfect.”

“If I help you destroy this base –”

“Since we started plottin’ strategy, yer technically already agreein’ t’ help, hero. It’s what ya do.”

“You need to promise me you won’t ever hurt Pepper, or anyone else on my list.”

“Awright, done – I promise. Wasn’t plannin’ t’ though. She’s cute, ‘specially in that li’l blue backless frock, all breathless after ya left ‘er unsmooched on that balcony. Don’t blame ya fer it bein’ complicated.”

“That promise better include a ‘paws off’ clause and a ‘claws off’, too.”

“Mmm… Ya staked a claim an’ all, huh? Does she know that?”

“Victor, don’t push me.”

With a grin stretching over his teeth, Victor sidled up close and pulled the man into his chest. “There’s tha iron in yer moniker... I like that, flyboy – like it a lot. Maybe she’s int’ cat tongues an’ danger scenarios … just like ya are.” He licked the side of the man’s face and then pressed his against it. Tony flinched as the camera clicked. Victor laughed when he got backhanded in the chest.

“Most creepy selfie award goes to… Ugh. You psycho killers are all the same.”

Tossing the phone down, Victor moved in closer and kissed him, chuckling when he responded with heat. Pressing his forehead against the smaller man’s, Victor smiled to feel those gifted hands petting the fur on his chest.

“I won’t hurt yer gal, Tony – won’t lick ‘er neither or anythin’ else ya care ‘bout. Matter o’ fact, if I ever catch ‘er in trouble, I’ll fish ‘er outta it fer ya. How’s that?”

“It’s a deal. Uh, listen, this has been a top notch kinky date, but…” He pulled away at the touch of Victor’s hands sliding down his arms. “I really can’t do it again. I don’t need to be able to walk in order to fly, but it helps, you know, later when I do need to walk. You have a schedule to keep, remember? So do I.”

Victor sighed. “Best get outta this wreck o’ a bed, then, or I’m gonna need it too bad.”

“Duty calls? Yeah, okay. I guess I’ll put on the arctic gear of the man who was going to shoot me in the head and go find this frozen latrine.”

Victor got up, opened the trunk, and rooted around for jeans, shirt, and a fresh set of arctic clothing for himself. “Clean clothes over sticky fur, it’s like a dream come true. Lemme scout ‘round tha camp a minute first, then ya can go.”

~ ~ ~

They met up in Gorman’s tent after finishing off the cooked seal in Victor’s. The arctic clothing and boots fit Tony, but he’d have to shed them to wear his metal suit. Victor spread out the map and stolen plans on the table in the nearly empty tent.

“We set up tha base here cuz at tha time it was as good a place as any, havin’ no clue. ‘Spose it was my fault they were too sick an’ tired t’ break camp an’ move later, but fact is, we’re too remote here. I can tear down my tent an’ gear, it all fits on tha sled an’ tha Ugly Pumpkin can pull tha sled behind. Ya salvage what ya want o’ tha rest an’ then I make it look like Hydra hit what’s left. That covers my tracks, since I still ain’t gotta clue who Gorman was workin’ fer.”

“We can use some of the heaters to blow the remains of the camp, save the ordinance for the attack on the Hydra base. I want a couple of the heaters to cannibalize for parts and maybe a few of the other supplies and gear too, especially those pipes by the core boxes.”

“Whatever ya need. Sure ya wanna take tha power zapper int’ tha fray?”

“Oh, we’re taking it. They need a taste of what they did to me.”

Victor growled with lust. “Ya got ‘sexiest man alive’ fer that steely vigilante revenge streak, didn’t ya?”

“No, they cited my playboy aplomb and boyish charms ... and my money – not one mention of all the good I’ve done.”

“It’s one step up from a rag mag, ya know. Gonna need ya in tha air, so if ya wanna mount tha thing next t’ tha big gun on my rig, I can work both. Just show me what t’ press or pull.”

Tony nodded. “I can’t carry that thing home … but I do want it. I don’t suppose I could invite you for dinner and have you deliver it?”

“Depends. Are ya a sure thing?”

“I’m often late and told I’m unreliable, but … you tell me.” He reached for Victor’s wrist and put his hand on his crotch.

“Mmm… We could bug out t’morrow, ya know.” His fingers squeezed the erection and pulled a groan out of the man.

“Not going to work. If I let you at me again now, I’ll need crutches. Save it for our second date, honey.”

Victor purred and leaned down. “Kiss me.” He was surprised when he did. It was a kiss that made him want to tear their clothes off, but Tony broke it and wagged a finger at him.

“Behave, Mufasa. We have work to do and a third of a camp to strike and move. Where are we moving it to?  This is the spot of the last coordinates I got from JARVIS, right before we were shot down.” He pointed on the map.

“We?”

“AI in the suit – JARVIS.”

“Oh, that – an’ ya call me creepy. If Skynet happens, I’m blamin’ ya. I think we should try this way, but we don’t wanna be too close.”

“I could do a recon before we move, but if I’m spotted, we lose surprise.”

“They tagged ya flyin’ out from Greenland. Where were ya when they first got ont’ yer six?”

“Here.”

“Then I vote we move no closer than this; unless yer math brain can figure better than my as-tha-crow-flies instincts?”

Tony moved his hand to cover over Victor’s and gripped it. “My math brain agrees with your crow.”

“Ya smell like ya want that dick sucked, ya know that?”

“Do I?” Tony asked, smirking up at him. “We have to break camp … but I bet you’d look amazing on your knees with my balls on your chin.”

“Sweet-talker…” Victor held his gaze when he stepped back and sank to his knees with slow grace. He watched those clever fingers open the white pants and his jeans and pull the pretty cock free. “Fuck my throat like ya did – loved that.”

“You’re going to ruin me for other large predators.” Tony leaned against the table, his hands gripping its edge. “This counts as extreme oral. We should take this show on Fear Factor.”

Victor didn’t answer; he just took the sweet hot flesh into his mouth and began to suck. He used a few tongue tricks to move things along and then flattened his tongue and relaxed his throat. They stared at each other as Tony’s fingers gripped his hair and pushed his hips forward, lodging his dick in Victor’s throat. He gasped and closed his eyes when the rumbling purr began to vibrate it, the deliberate swallows coaxing it deeper.

“Holy … oh, crap… Okay, I am not going to last long here, sorry…”

Hooking a finger into the waistband of the pants, Victor tugged, prompting the man to move. He began to thrust and Victor watched him do it, taking in every detail, every scent, sound, sight and feel of it. When the warm cum spouted, most of it slid right down his throat; Victor kept swallowing, ignoring his need to breathe until it was wrung dry. He couldn’t sit back in the cleated boots, so he just waited for Tony to recover enough to pull out.

The moment he could, Victor stood in one smooth motion, picked the man up to sit him on the table and kissed him. He purred with pleasure when Tony didn’t hesitate over tasting himself in his mouth.

“Hey, your new fang is coming in,” Tony said as soon as Victor let him talk.

Moving his tongue over it cautiously, a pleased gruff purr thrummed in his throat. “‘Bout damn time – hate bein’ lopsided.”

“That doesn’t really hinder your sexy, killer.”

“It don’t, huh?” Victor ducked his head to nuzzle the soft dark hair.

Tony leaned back to refasten his clothes. “Do you know what would make you even sexier?”

“Strikin’ camp an’ gettin’ some actual work done ‘round here?”

“Good guess.”

Victor fished in his pocket and handed the man a pair of hair ties. “Ponytail an’ braid tha mop, then.” He turned and the purr started up again when Tony finger-combed his hair and started to braid it.

“Beaded bits in it or not in it?”

“Not. So when’s our second date gonna be? Might be hard t’ reach me t’ make plans, dependin’ on where I am.”

“I’ll call; we’ll sort it out. You can probably keep my cell signal box.”

Victor smirked.

*****************************************************************

Tony clapped his hands together once and announced, “Okay, we’ll have to just hum the Rocky training montage music for inspiration, but off we go, time to work. After you help the sexual invalid off of the table…” Once he was on his feet, Tony gathered up the map and plans and rolled them back into their tube.

“If ya ain’t suitin’ up right off an’ ya don’t want yer robot packed at tha bottom o’ tha sled, ya want me t’ move it in here fer now?”

“Sounds good; I should get started on building our new pulse weapon while you pack.” Tony picked up his gloves and headgear from the table and started putting them on. He grabbed the tube and faced Victor. “How about helping me gather supplies and tools for that first, out by your rig?”

“Ya point, an’ I’ll haul.”

Once they got sufficient lighting set up around the very aptly named Ugly Pumpkin, Tony got to work. He decided not to ask why Victor had traveled to the Arctic Circle with barb wire, welding tools, and a grab bag of pipes, and simply made good use of them. Heater parts and even hardware from the third tent all got drafted to be welded or bolted in.

Tony had watched the mutant slash the extra tent’s white insulated material away from the framework he’d asked him for, fascinated with the claws and the power of the man wielding them. Then he had quickly looked away from the sight of body parts and wide smears of blood being folded up inside the tent like a padded giant communal shroud. It was an image that might prove difficult to get out of his head. The whole mess had been left where it was after the mutant dismantled the frame and carried the parts to him, and Tony had put some effort into not looking over there again.

_Victor’s expression never once changed from that ‘taking care of business’ mild boredom once the chores began. Hell of a dinner date to bring home. Clearly, Rhodey was right – I am certifiable. Focus, build, get it done. Okay…_

For vehicle balance and ease of operation, he had matched the pulse weapon to the anti-tank gun mounted over the cab, with the barrels of both sticking through the exo-cage like a pair of horns. By the time only Gorman’s tent was left standing and still intact, the stolen prototype was ready to be used against its creators.

Tony finished up the electrical wiring as Victor dropped his tent case onto the sled and lashed it in.

“I tinkered with your anti-tank gun – made a few improvements – it’s more maneuverable around the exo-cage now.”

Victor looked up at both weapons and grunted. “Bet ya don’t never hafta jiggle tha handle on yer john t’ get tha water t’ quit runnin’, huh?”

Smiling down at him, Tony shook his head. “One, I’m not a plumber, and two, my toilets don’t have handles.”

“Space boy – what a surprise.”

“I need to show you how to operate the pulse weapon. Is that flatbed truck behind Gorman’s tent operational, or did you sabotage everything around here?”

“Naw, it should be. Gonna hafta hotwire it.”

“You didn’t procure the keys?”

“They’re probly inside a corpse by now. Doubt ya wanna go lookin’ fer ‘em in tha tent quesadilla.”

“Ah, no. I don’t.”

“Gimme a minute.”

“Excellent. Crank it up and then hop up here.”

He lost sight of the mutant until the flatbed rumbled to life, and then watched him move to the back of the orange truck where the exo-cage was open, its door fixed to the side by what appeared to be a clip from a dog leash.

Tony gripped the anti-tank gun for balance when his companion’s weight jostled the vehicle. As he expected, Victor hesitated before entering the cage, even though his claws could shred it.

“Are you going to have any issues with being back here? Why have the exo-cage added at all? It’s hardly a standard feature.”

Victor growled. “Neither is tha weapon. Ain’t usually me firin’ tha thing – cage protects personnel I don’t wanna risk.”

“Fair enough. I’m not impugning your courage, manhood, or whatever, cranky. Shelve the growling and let’s get this done.”

The expression on the mutant’s face was caught between surprise and some sort of odd enjoyment. It made Tony chuckle.

 _If he isn’t used to being snarked at or talked back to, this could be interesting. Warning: learning curves ahead._ “Here goes – the basics aren’t much different from your tank killer, and way less involved than that, or the Grinch. This lever moves the barrel, I set it up like a cyclic control stick on a helicopter – do you fly those?”

“Yup.”

Tony gripped it. “So aiming at the flatbed ... and then one switch flick, a button mash, and presto!”

The pulse weapon fired an invisible burst at the hood and the other truck instantly stalled out and died.

“It don’t fry tha engine or any o’ tha works or wires?”

“No, it causes instant battery drain. Sucks up gigawatts like a Hoover. I can’t wait to take it apart and find out how they did it. Now once it gets unzapped, the battery will be recharged and ready to go, though you would have to go start the truck again.”

“Don’t need it unzapped, just gonna blow it up. Save the juice.”

“Fine, yes – but show me what the reverse sequence should be. Humor me,” he added when Victor raised an eyebrow at him.

“That, this, thumb tha switch up, then press this one t’ unzap.”

“Wow. That’s right.”

Victor smirked at him. “Weapons expert. I may not invent ‘em, but if they shoot fuck-all, I can probly figure out how t’ work ‘em.”

Tony moved out of his way as he looked over both weapons with a critical eye, fingers touching them like a man trying to decide whether or not to buy something he didn’t really need. By the time he stopped, he was purring.

“I take it you approve?”

“Not too shabby.”

Tony rolled his eyes at him. “Destruction of base camp: imminent. Scoot.”

Grinning, Victor jumped down with a speed and grace that defied his bulk. Staring back up at him, he asked, “Does yer sore ass wanna hand down from there, too?”

“Will it malign my image as a heroic badass if I say yes?”

“Yer rep’s safe with me. I was goin’ easy on ya, by tha by – broke a few pelvis bones in my day.”

“It is important to get to know more about a person on successive dates, but in your case, less may be more.”

Tony handed him the welding mask and tools first, and then took his offered hands. He wasn’t surprised when being helped down involved being crushed in a possessive bear hug. Victor used a gloved finger to pull Tony’s mask down more and bent his head to kiss him as the other hand reached to grope his asscheek in the artic pants.

When he could get his mouth back, Tony sighed up at the smirk on the mutant’s face. “It’s official – you’re worse than me in the one-track-mind department.”

“That’s part o’ yer prob; ya got too damn many tracks goin’ at once. I’m relentless, yer distractable.”

“Guilty as charged – but the less you treat me like your new girlfriend, the better we’ll get along.”

“Feel free t’ strap on yer moxie an’ make me yer bitch, flyboy – if ya got tha stones fer it.”

“My stones are hanging out with my kidneys, where it’s warm.”

“Let’s hit it, then; gotta hitch tha sled up. Ya gettin’ gussied in yer tin suit, or packin’ it?”

Tony frowned. He’d wanted back in the suit intensely, but now… “We’re just driving to get safely closer and not risking a reconnaissance flight, so it seems like overkill … for a road trip.”

“Yer call.”

“Pack it.”

The smirk stretched wide. “Yes, Tony.” He turned and went back toward Gorman’s tent.

“I can put the heaters in place to blow up the rest of the camp,” he called after Victor.

“Already done. If ya want my coat, it’s on the seat in the cab.”

“I’ll just use your rearview mirror to fix my lipstick, then.”

“Yer pretty ‘nuff without it, but suit yerself.”

“Pretty ‘enough’?” Tony laughed outright when the mutant winked at him before he disappeared into the last tent.

Walking over to the sled, he saw a bit of wire at the bottom of a gap in the man’s thorough packing job. Fishing it out, he pulled up the broken yanked fang that was still strung on it. He slid it off of the wire and tucked it into a pocket of the arctic jacket he wore.

Victor gave him an odd look when he returned with a trunk of Gorman’s, but he didn’t comment on what he could probably smell and Tony didn’t offer any explanations.

“It’s all in here, latched, but not locked.”

“Thanks.” Tony watched as he found a place for it on the sled and then hauled the whole thing around to hitch it up at the back. “How strong are you, just curious?”

When he finished with it, Victor moved to the front of the vehicle and handed Tony the Grinch with a fresh missile loaded in it that he’d leaned against the driver’s door. He put one hand under the bumper and lifted it – and the front of the vehicle, weaponry and all – about three feet into the air. Tossing another wink at him, the mutant let it back down slowly to the snowy ice. As Tony stared, he took the Grinch back and moved off to take aim at the heater inside Gorman’s tent.

“Keys are in tha ignition – move ‘er off a ways, huh? Yer mathematic discretion on how far, I ain’t afraid o’ a li’l walkin’.”

Tony huffed out a breath before he pulled his mask back up over his mouth and headed for the driver’s door. He hung the fur coat over the back of the seat. When he started the Land Rover, the powerful V8 rumbled and set a plastic hula girl dancing on the dashboard. Chuckling, he drove it off to a safe distance. He got out and leaned against it, engine running, to watch the fireworks show.

The tall white figure holding the Grinch got him smiling under the face mask. _It’s ‘Revenge of the Yeti’ in 3D._ The ice under it cracked as the remains of the camp were blown to ash and bits of shrapnel. Victor had apparently rigged it to go up as a chain reaction started by one hit. _I’d like to make tracks before the latrine catches on fire…_

He watched the mutant walking toward him with the weapon propped against his broad shoulder, and sighed.

_My ass is sore because I’ve been vigorously bonding with my mutant stalker, a contract murderer who gets off on biting me and sucking my blood. A guy who saved my life, twice, and who probably is going to want to do more bonding long before we attack a Hydra base together for a lark. My life is so weird._

As he headed around to the passenger side, his eye caught the corner of the trunk that now held his armor.

_If I really wanted to avoid extensive bonding, the suit would be on me, not in there. I guess ‘danger whore’ fits._

Tony was buckled up and ready to go before Victor climbed up to the cab. He stood on the floor of it and half of him disappeared outside as he fiddled with something. He twisted at one point, and Tony found himself staring at the curve of his ass.

 _He’s no twink, or slinky underwear model – but the man has one damn fine ass._ Tony frowned as his thoughts got away from him and nudged his dick awake. _Give it up._ _There may as well be an ‘exit only’ sign tattooed on his tailbone. If trying to make me his new girlfriend is any clue, I’m betting being the boss doesn’t include getting to fuck that NFL-level glorious thing – moxie or not._

As Victor settled behind the wheel and sat on his temptation, Tony glanced at his crotch.

_Down, boy. He poisoned and decapitated the last guys who pissed him off. Stay alive, count your blessings, and don’t look a god-like blowjob in the mouth._

His companion took a deep breath as he gripped the wheel. “Somethin’ on yer mind?”

Startled, Tony shook his head. “No, nothing – just cold.”

He got frowned at, but then those thick fingers cranked the heat on. “She’ll warm up fast.”

Victor hadn’t driven off very far, when Tony grabbed the massive fur coat and draped it over him. As the cab finally started to warm up, he took off the goggles and facemask, but kept the fur coat on his lap. A zipper sound caught his attention and he looked over to see Victor opening his arctic jacket. His headgear had been in the cab all day. Tony smiled when he noticed the mutant was wearing a black Motörhead t-shirt that was almost a mirror image of his face.

“Good taste in tunes,” Tony commented. “Did you model for their logo?”

“Nope.”

“And the monosyllabic nature resets.” Trying again, he asked, “Favorite tune is _Ace of Spades_ , right?”

“Always preferred _Limb from Limb_.”

“I wish I could be surprised. I guess the camp destruction will be very authentic, what with the human remains.”

“I don’t do nothin’ halfway.”

Tony watched the orange hood and the insane contrast of the dark snowy world revealed by the lights on the vehicle, and smiled. “All this care to have the white arctic gear and you drive around in a screaming-orange truck with basically a turret, now a pair of them, sticking out of it. You got a D- in stealth, right?”

“Why’d ya paint yer suit red an’ gold no matter what terrain yer in, steath boy?”

Tony smiled. “I like those hotrod colors.”

“Ditto.”

“Does the hula girl have a name?” All he got for that was a low growl. “Since you don’t seem in the mood to chat, do you have tunes in this rig?”

“Case o’ CDs under yer seat; bet ya can figure out how t’ work a radio. Knock yerself out.”

Tony grabbed the case, popped what turned out to be the Beatles _White Album_ from the impressively modern player and set it on the fur coat draped over his lap. Smiling appreciatively, he thumbed through one of the most eclectic CD collections he’d ever seen.

“I presume when you get past a hundred years old, your taste in tunes can stretch to quite a span. Duke Ellington? Cool.”

“Saw ‘im live at tha Cotton Club in 1930.”

“Definitely cool.” Tony slid it out of the case and popped it into the player. “Will I get growled at again if I put the Beatles in the wrong spot?”

“Ain’t no ‘wrong spot’.”

Smiling again as he put the CD where Ellington’s had been, Tony settled more comfortably with the case beside him and tugged the fur up higher as the notes of _It Don’t Mean a Thing (If It Ain’t Got That Swing)_ added to the general weirdness of the trip. Within four more songs, he was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mufasa is the original "Lion King" of Disney’s film. The name means “King”. Skynet is the genocidal AI from the "Terminator" movies, and of course Tony’s quip about “Rocky training montage music” refers to the "Rocky" boxing movies. Thanks for reading! -  AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	4. Grendel and Prometheus

When I was a child, I heard voices  
Some would sing and some would scream  
You soon find you have few choices  
I learned the voices died with me

When I was a child, I’d sit for hours  
Staring into open flame  
Something in it had a power  
Could barely tear my eyes away

All you have is your fire  
And the place you need to reach  
Don’t you ever tame your demons  
But always keep ‘em on a leash

When I was 16, my senses fooled me  
Thought gasoline was on my clothes  
I knew that something would always rule me  
I knew the scent was mine alone

All you have is your fire  
And the place you need to reach  
Don’t you ever tame your demons  
But always keep ‘em on a leash

When I was a man I thought it ended  
When I knew love’s perfect ache  
But my peace has always depended  
On all the ashes in my wake

All you have is your fire  
And the place you need to reach  
Don’t you ever tame your demons  
But always keep ‘em on a leash

~ Arsonist’s Lullabye (Hozier)

*****************************************************************

Tony woke when he was picked up out of the warm truck and the freezing wind hit his face. It was a little disorienting to be carried into Victor’s blazing warm tent and put on the camp bed.

“We … actually struck camp and had a road trip … right?”

“Strip an’ go back t’ sleep – gotta pull tha rig in through tha other end. Latrine is gonna be a bucket behind tha back bumper, so it’s a good thing ya like adventure.”

“More sleep sounds better.”

“Polar night came an’ got us – welcome t’ October. Stay in tha tent unless I’m with ya, or yer in yer robot suit.”

“Do I have anything to do with you being semi-laconic and nearly cranky again?”

“Ain’t nothin’ worth fussin’ over, but if ya wanna cheer me up, wait’ll I get back before ya strip.”

The smirk the mutant flashed at him before he headed outside again only confused Tony more. He’d had enough experience with people being irritated with him to recognize when it was happening. He bent to take his boots and socks off, wriggling his toes in the warmth from the heaters. Looking around, he noticed that only the bed, heaters, and Victor’s large black steamer trunk had been brought in, but they were all set close together on one side of the tent.

He heard the truck moving and got up to secure one tent flap open at the back and held the other open. After a moment’s pause, the vehicle drove in with the sled still attached. It parked with the bumper touching the front wall of the tent. Before Victor could turn it off and step out, Tony had the back flaps closed and secured. Ignoring the arched eyebrow this got him, he went to the heater closer to the bed and warmed his feet up again.

Victor was a shadow moving in the dim orange light from the pair of heaters as he busied himself with Tony didn’t know what.

Sleep sounded great, but the arc reactor’s light was hidden by his arctic jacket, and he was a little concerned about it showing through the tent in their alleged position of being closer to the enemy. He wondered how it would go down if he opted to sleep in clothes – for a few really excellent reasons.

Soon enough, the silence got to him and it was either talk, fidget, tinker, or drink. Since the whiskey was buried in their gear somewhere and there was nothing to tinker on, he settled for talk and fidget.

“If you’d woken me up, I could have helped set up camp.”

“Not necessary, an’ ya ain’t had that much sleep,” the mutant replied as he came up from behind the vehicle.

Tony sighed and paused with his hand on his jacket zipper. “I’m officially no longer an invalid. Do you think the arc reactor light will show through the tent?”

With his usual lack of shyness or modesty, Victor took off his boots and began to strip. “It didn’t before, so nope. We’re impersonatin’ a snow bank, long as we’re at least somewhat quiet.”

“Quiet may involve … just sleeping…”

Victor paused, shirtless, with fingers poised on his belt, and looked over at him. “I can take a hint, Stark – ain’t gonna spear yer ass without an invite. Relax.”

Tony swallowed and looked away as he unzipped and shrugged out of the jacket.

“Ya took off yer bandage.”

“It’s fine, and I don’t like bandages. If you want to get your cuddle on, it probably wouldn’t kill me.” He glanced back with a smile and got caught up watching Victor strip nude and stretch.

Victor frowned at him, the slightly glowing eyes narrowing. “If ya ain’t gonna ride tha horse, don’t get ‘im all worked up.”

“Sorry,” Tony muttered. He thought about the last bit of banter and frowned back at him. “Does that mean stripping for you is out?”

“Ya used all tha poles buildin’ yer new weapon, so I guess so.”

“Oh, you’re funny. Asshole.”

He got as far as tossing the jacket over the edge of the sled before a sense of onery mischief doused over him and soothed his abrupt anger. Turning back to face the glaring mutant, he gripped the hem of his AC/DC t-shirt in his fingers and pulled it off slow – porn slow. When it joined the jacket, he opened his belt and zip on the arctic pants and the jeans under that. Sliding every article of clothing off of his ass as he turned it toward Victor, he watched him over his shoulder as it all fell. Stepping out of it, he bent over to grab the clothes and took his time straightening up to put them on top of the rest. Facing forward, he stood still and stroked his dick with one hand.

The claws were out and the mutant was magnificently hard. His lips had peeled back from the teeth in a snarl.

Tony moved to put his shoulders against the passenger door of the Ugly Pumpkin. “Come over here,” he said, making his tone a chilly command. _I’m either about to be gutted, or a good time will be had, but I’m not in the mood for the surly bullshit._

He was still being glared at, but Victor came over to stand in front of him. With a slight smirk, Tony continued to stroke himself as he pointed to the tent floor at his feet.

“On your knees – I want to be sucked.”

Holding his breath as the mutant watched him, Tony took a deep breath when Victor sank down to his knees. He was nuzzled and sniffed, and then everything down there was licked. Still holding the base of his dick, he experimented and smacked the man’s jaw with it. The instant snarl almost made him freeze, but he glared down at him instead and smacked the other side of the heavy jaw.

“Open up, Victor. Suck.”

“Gotta death wish?” A growl rode the words, but Tony could already hear it switching gears from anger to lust.

“You did offer to be my bitch; so is this enough strapped-on moxie for you? I’m waiting.”

The pinned ears twitched and rose as the jaw moved and those teeth opened. That long tongue slid out and Tony slapped his dick down onto it. The way the mouth closed around him and the focused stare of those alien eyes bored into his, inspired an involuntary shiver.

“Make it good,” he whispered, his fingers lifting to stroke down a furry sideburn.

He gasped when the suction began. Watching the head move to lodge his dick in the throat, Tony grasped Victor’s head and held it there as the purr rumbled and the swallowing torturous pleasure started to pull his thoughts apart.

The fear that he could have made the man seriously angry right before he stuck his dick in that Ginsu mouth was enough to help him last longer. Yet the more he observed the mutant’s body language, the more it became clear that he was starving for it, possibly for any sort of sexual touch.

_Time to earn my Danger Whore patch…_

He’d noticed that Victor had sunk lower into a crouch on his knees, sitting on his haunches, and the head of his dick was on the floor. Moving a bare foot, he placed it over it and applied a little test-the-waters pressure. He’d cut off his airway but took the increasingly desperate sucking as a yes-please and pressed harder. He almost yelped when every single claw on the fingers pricked the outside of his thighs.

“Is that a ‘no’, or a ‘more, please’?” When the claws left his skin, he managed a deep breath and slow exhale. “It’s my fault I’m too wrecked to let you do what you want,” he told him in what he hoped was a low and soothing tone. “That doesn’t mean we can’t do this.”

As he pressed again, the claws didn’t return. All he had for a response was a harder sucking that almost hurt, two heartbeats before his orgasm snuck up and sucker-punched him in the gut. He could only focus on trying to stay on his feet while Victor milked the last drop from his body with his throat, lips, and tongue.

It wasn’t until Victor released his dick and Tony looked down to move his foot that he realized all the claws had been stabbed into the mutant’s thighs.

“Victor?” He pressed his hands on either side of the furry face as the man gasped for air. “Pull them out, okay? Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

He let him go and winced to watch him rise. The cuts healed instantly but the blood still dripped through the maze pattern of his fur. When he sat on the edge of the bed, looking a little dazed, Tony sat next to him.

“Are you all right?”

“Will be. Yer a lucky idiot just now, ya know that?”

“I … got that impression. I didn’t want to fight with you.”

“Next time, just fuckin’ say no.” Victor got up and moved to get into the bed from the other side.

Tony slipped under the covers and lay back, staring up at the tent ceiling where the arc reactor was beaming a wide blue glow. By the time he was fairly sure that Victor was asleep, he found out he wasn’t tired at all.

He managed to lie still by thinking about the base they wanted to attack, but that was wrecked when Victor rolled in his sleep and cuddled up, pulling him into his arms. Tony closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

~ ~ ~

When he snapped awake again, he couldn’t remember the dream he had fallen into, but it certainly had a theme. His body was curled up against Victor’s back and his dick was hard and aching for release. He closed his eyes to try to ignore it, but then his lips gained a mind of their own and kissed his bedmate’s shoulderblade. No growl erupting was a good sign, and when Victor’s body fell even more still, Tony knew he was already awake.

Putting an arm around his waist, Tony kissed his back again and started to run his tongue along the shoulderblade.

“Thought we were swearin’ off fuckin’, since yer sore,” Victor muttered, his voice a low rasp. “This an invite, or just ‘nother tease?”

“My ass is sore,” Tony whispered, “the rest of me is interested, and curious...” He nipped the shoulder with his teeth as his hand slid between their bodies to tuck fingers at the top of the cleft of Victor’s ass. “Have you ever heard the saying, ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’? ‘Fortune favors the brave’? Or, ‘faint heart ne’r won fair lady’?”

“Why ya hesitatin’ then?”

“Ah, because you classify as a biological natural disaster with violent mood swings? Your whole schtick screams ‘macho grande’? Also, I was taught that it’s polite to ask.”

With a grunt, Victor rolled onto his stomach. “Bite at tha back o’ my neck.”

When Tony did, moving the thick braid out of the way, the purr sparked and thrummed. Encouraged, he moved over him, but paused when the purr became a growl.

“Gonna hafta cope with bein’ growled at up there – my inner beastie thinks he’s tha alpha in this bed. Lotta ‘em noises ain’t all that voluntary on my part.”

“So ... you want this?”

“Jacked it t’ tha fantasy version more’n once, so yeah – I’m fer findin’ out how reality stacks up.”

Tony slid his fingers farther, one of them finding out that the tight muscle was ringed with short soft fur, the same fur that dusted so much of his body golden.

“Give ya a tip... I don’t need ya t’ prep it, an’ it won’t stay loose much anyhow. I like it pretty rough, t’ be honest. Just shove in an’ fuck it as hard as ya want ‘til ya come, an’ leave it messy.”

“Seriously? That could injure you. Trust me, I have – recent – experience with that.”

“It’ll heal.”

“Yours or mine?”

One glowing cat’s eye appeared in the warm dim tent and watched him. “Fuck me, Tony. Smelled ya wantin’ it a while back – been waitin’, figured ya didn’t … want it with me.”

Tony swallowed hard, but he didn’t know how to respond to that. All he could do was show him he’d been wrong.

Instead of getting up to fetch the lube from the trunk, afraid of how Victor might interpret him leaving the bed, he compromised and stuck his fingers in his mouth before replacing them against that furry hole.

The moment he began, he realized it wouldn’t be easy and had to quickly swallow a gasp when he pushed harder and his fingertip popped through. Mere imagination of what that would feel like made his body ache with need.

“That is going to be tight,” he murmured, trying to save face as he hesitated.

“Ain’t never had no complaints ‘bout that.”

Tony was shocked to find he was nervous and it was difficult not to let his mind wander into thinking about levers, fulcrums, and torque as he used his finger to open him enough to insert the second one. Pushing in and crooking them, he stroked gently, hoping the mutant even had a prostate to play with.

When he found one, he used all the skill he had to make it good. Leaning down against his broad back, he bit the neck again and both heard and felt Victor groan with lust. The sound, and the thought of doing it, made him too hard to worry about nerves. The second he backed his fingers out, the muscle cinched tight again, making him suck in a breath.

“Just shove it in, right?”

The muscles across that powerful back rippled as the mutant gave out a low hiss. “Do it…”

Tony gripped his erection and stabbed it through the protesting muscle; he was the only one who winced.

“Oooh, wow.” He almost asked if Victor was all right, but the deep purring growl switching gears between warning and want was proof enough. The muscle contracted back around him, clenching tighter. “Are – you doing that? If you are, I’d like to mention I’m a fan of it.”

“Healin’ factor does that. Don’t sit up there wonderin’ how t’ make it nice fer me, just fuck tha thing. Fact it’s yer dick in there is gonna be ‘nuff fer me.”

“Feel free to have a fanboy moment,” Tony teased. Needing no more assurances, he took the man at his word and pushed in without a pause until his balls struck Victor’s furry skin. Pulling back and almost out, he pushed it in again and groaned. “I should warn you … I could acquire a taste for this.”

Victor crossed his arms under his face and Tony watched his heavy shoulders relax in the muted orange and blue light.

“Ya can have it whenever ya want, much as ya want.”

“Uh, gift horse and mouth, all that, but … why?”

“I’m a slut, that’s why.”

“I did notice that. Now tell me the real reason?”

“Got me a fanboy crush.”

“That’s more like it.” Tony leaned close and began to kiss his back as he thrust. “Don’t judge my prowess by how short this takes; I blame you, for being insanely exotically hot.”

The purr intensified at the praise, inspiring him to be a little rougher. Victor’s arms moved and the claws gouged the camp bed mattress. Tony couldn’t see them over the mutant’s shoulders and bowed head, but he could hear the cloth being punctured.

He gasped at the grip on his cock; he’d never felt it so tight. He was lying on a person who had used this body to kill people, a person many others saw only in their nightmares – if they were lucky. It was a heady thrillseeker mix.

Victor didn’t speak, but he was certainly communicating. Tony wished he knew what all the different sounds meant.

He pushed himself to thrust faster, for Victor’s sake, even though it would end things all the sooner for him. He could usually track when it would hit him, but it happened so fast, it was almost over before he was ready. Tony didn’t even try to maintain control, and it was clear that Victor was barely managing to. He collapsed on him and planned to stay there, but that amazing ring of muscle was tightening down again. With a grunt, he moved, pulled out, and then flopped back down onto Victor’s back.

“Well, you wanted it messy…” Tony picked his head up. “You didn’t come. I’d know, because you’re pretty noisy about it, usually. Can I help with that? I don’t need my mouth to walk.”

Victor didn’t reply, but when he started to move, Tony got out of the way, ready for the flop to his back. He wasn’t too surprised when he was roped in with one arm and pulled against him for a feral possessive cuddle.

“I can be a li’l tough t’ handle that way,” he finally answered. “How’d ya feel ‘bout good ol’ fashioned intercrural sex?”

“Is this a test to see if I know what that is?”

“Perish tha thought.”

Tony extricated himself from the arm to climb up the chest and kiss him. He was fascinated at the way Victor watched him. One large hand lifted and covered the arc reactor.

“I’m game, but let’s up the stakes and mix it up with something you really want.”

“Whattaya think I really want, Tony?”

Kissing him again, Tony slipped his tongue out and licked the front of the short bottom fang. It was growing back in impressively fast. He didn’t miss the little shiver the mutant tried to hide. It made a weird sort of sense – if people were terrified of the fangs, but he was stuck with them as a major part of his face, having someone treat them like an erogenous zone was probably a rare treat.

Leaving Victor to wonder, Tony got down and turned onto his side with his back to him. It was oddly hot to have to notice the mattress moving because his feral bedmate didn’t make a sound when he turned and slipped an arm under Tony’s to pull him closer. He opened his thighs slightly and let that thick cock push between them.

“I want you to bite, where you did before – only as deep as the new fang is long. I want to feel you suck at it while we get you off.”

“Fuck…”

“See? I knew you’d like it.”

“Ya know I can lose it…? Don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“That’s why you won’t. I trust you, Victor.”

He waited, letting Victor decide to accept that trust. He felt the soft lips first, kissing before the tongue licked. He could feel the hard shaft of the long lower fang and the scratch of the razor tip on the new one.

“Tony…”

*****************************************************************

He had breathed the name against the skin, making Tony shiver. It was part seeking reassurance and part wallowing in the man’s scent. What had happened earlier had unsettled him even as it excited him. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d needed to touch Tony too intensely to fight what he wanted to do.

Kissing and licking the healing marks of the first bite, he hesitated. Not long before, he had set claws to this man. Had that fleeting impulse left him?

Tony reached back with gentle fingers to touch his face. “I want you to.”

Victor let his aching jaw open as Tony moved his hand. Both of his arms grabbed onto Victor’s where it wrapped around him.

He set the lethal points, but he had to turn his head and leave the long fang out of it. As the trio of needles sank slowly in, he moved his hips and thrust his cock forward and back between Tony’s thighs.

The urge to shift and drive inside Tony’s body was strong, but Victor fought it off with the intoxicating taste of his blood as he sucked at the puncture wounds. The strong thighs that gripped his cock tightened down for him and Victor groaned. He hissed around the bite when he felt strong hands slap against the head as he thrust. Tony had formed his hands into a little tunnel and tried to catch and squeeze the head when it struck.

“Your new fang is longer than that,” Tony told him through huffing breaths. “Bite deeper, I can take it.”

Victor growled over the flushed and bloody flesh pinched in his fangs. On another thrust, he sank three of his fangs deeper, his tongue lashing so that not one drop was lost.

Sucking the blood was a separate ecstasy that blended with the pleasure strung tight in his cock. Adding to it was the warmth of the man’s seed inside him and the hyper-sensitive flesh that could still feel those urgent and hungry thrusts in his body.

When he began to come, he knew it was the blood and the sense memory of Tony fucking him that shoved him over the edge. The only thing that kept him quiet was having his mouth clamped to the man’s flesh.

Tony gasped and made a little noise of pain when he pulled the fangs free. Victor set his tongue to the punctures before he shifted and moved, and Tony didn’t question it when he settled behind him with the shaft of his spent cock tucked between his asscheeks. As the bleeding slowed, he licked at the wounds gently.

“I’m not sure why that feels good – the licking it, I mean – but it does.” Tony wilted in his arms and let out a soft sigh. “The bite hurts, but it definitely ranks pretty high in kinky danger thrills.”

Victor didn’t answer, busy with wound care. To him, it was intimate and struck a cord deep in his psyche and his instincts. It was something he would do for a mate…

“I think it … makes me feel … cared for?” Tony shifted a little in Victor’s hold, his scent spiced with a fleeting anxiety. “Is the biting a sexy thing to you? Or is it a … cannibal thing?”

Watching the punctures a moment, Victor leaned in to whisper at his ear, “Depends on what an’ who I’m bitin’. Fer ya … it’s sexy.”

“Oh, good.” He was silent for all of three breaths. “Should we have a debriefing about earlier? You seem to like the S&M stuff in general; I saw that in a porn flick once. I hope it didn’t almost go south due to my lack of stilletos. I mean, I can never find any in my size and they just don’t work with the suit – not after Labor Day, anyhow.”

Victor had gone back to licking but a chuckle overtook him at that.

“Dunno what that was. Ya were smart t’ start talkin’ t’ me when ya did – in tha middle o’ how stupid ya were bein’.”

“Acknowledged, yes, but … I’d like to know where I went wrong. Was it the dick-stepping that went over the line, slapping you with mine, or the ordering you about? You liked the ordering about before.”

Victor kissed the punctures as he tried to sort out an answer. He kept coming back to being told no. He hooked his scratchy chin on Tony’s shoulder and tried to figure out how to explain without sounding like a moron.

“Remember what ya said when ya figured out I like t’ be bossed sometimes?”

“If you’re getting what you want, you … oh.” He sighed. “I’d already told you ‘no sex’ and then started ordering you to ‘service me’, right before stomping on your dick – hello to the symbolism of your fun denied. Shit. No wonder you were thinking about shredding me. I sort of suck at the S&M games. I’ve messed about, some things I’ve seen can be a turn-on, but for practical application in bed, my MO is really the ‘drunken fuck and then bail’ thing. I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t really thinkin’ ‘bout shreddin’ ya; that was an inner beastie warnin’, not a plan. Also, not sure tha ‘revenge strip’ was a good idea, or tha oglin’ me after ya said no.”

“Why were you backsliding into surly mode? That started way before bedtime and was the inspiration for my faux pas.”

“In tha rig, before we started out, ya wanted t’ fuck me. I smelled it – tough t’ miss once ya got hard – but when I asked what was up, ya lied.”

“‘Macho Grande’. I assumed you’d be ticked if I suggested you play catcher; headless is not a good look for me. Before you say something inane like ‘ask, don’t assume’, you need to stand in front of a mirror and snarl, and then try to imagine what that looks like when you point it at the rest of us.”

Victor frowned. “Fair ‘nuff.”

When Tony fussed to move, he let him loose. He turned to face him and surprised Victor by kissing him. The kiss got a little intense, and Victor had to break it to avoid cutting the man.

“So, conclusion of our debriefing: common misunderstanding, worked it out, lessons learned. Agreed?”

“I think ya hang out with tha military too much.”

“That’s another topic entirely. Agreed?”

“Agreed. Are we gonna need a conch shell t’ work this sorta shit out in future?”

“I certainly hope not; I’d be terribly worried to be cast as Piggy to your Jack. Um, don’t take this wrong, but – you read books?”

“Yup.”

“Okay. I kind of don’t; I can’t sit still that long.”

“Didn’t ya read that one?”

Tony grinned at him. “Saw the movie. All right, then. So, new business – or, repeat business – can I get you to play catch again?”

“Meant tha previous offer – wallow all ya want, Piggy.”

Tony laughed, but stopped him when he tried to roll to his stomach. “I want to see you.” He stroked his thighs as Victor raised and opened them, unconcerned with the dried blood here and there. “I also want the lube. Wait right like that – you look delicious, honey. It’s still in the trunk, right?”

Victor nodded once, feeling restless until Tony returned with the blue and white plastic tube. He held it in the light from his chest to read the brand name.

“Sylk – I approve. I like this stuff, too.”

He seemed to know that Victor needed to be touched more than looked at, and slicked himself fast before fucking into him deep again. Jacking himself lazily, Victor watched Tony fuck him, the expression on the man’s face sparking a purr in his chest. He lifted his other hand to touch the reactor, but then hesitated.

Gentle fingers closed on his wrist and brought his hand up to it. “I don’t know why you like to touch it so much,” Tony told him, his voice roughened by lust, “but I think I like it, which is new for me. Oh, damn – you feel so unbelievably good… I’m maybe still shocked you’re into this.”

He didn’t answer until he’d worn the man out. Tony managed not to fuss or comment when Victor pulled him into a close cuddle and curled around his back. Phantom pleasure still fired through his nerve-endings and he could feel and scent the man’s warm seed inside him.

Licking the side of his throat, Victor nuzzled the soft dark hair behind his ear. One arm was draped over Tony’s waist as that hand moved to cover the reactor.

He whispered, “I like t’ touch it cuz it’s a symbol o’ all tha reasons ya fascinate me – an’ cuz nobody else has that. I can sleep close an’ know who ya are; tha nightmares can’t lie t’ me.”

“It’s all fun and games to joke about stalking me, but … you obviously seriously do. Statistically speaking, that doesn’t usually end well, even with regular non-trained assassin stalkers. At what point does the fantasy run out and you have to kill me because I don’t fit into it anymore?”

Victor scented him, but didn’t detect any fear. “Ain’t like that; I think ya know it. Got tired o’ just lookin’ at mags, wanted more, so yeah, I stalked ya t’ get more. Never had a plan t’ actually meet, figured ya’d just try t’ kill me or attempt t’ lock me up. Then I started comin’ across yer tech an’ had tha idea o’ makin’ a deal t’ return it. Coulda insisted ya meet me fer that, but didn’t. Since ya butted heads with Obinata an’ found my name in tha financial scraps, that was easier t’ arrange.”

“That tiny little man is spookier than you are, by the way.”

“It ain’t a competition. Point is, I woulda been fine with those calls once in a blue moon.”

Tony was silent and Victor didn’t disturb him. He seemed to be wrestling with something. When he finally spoke again, the voice was soft – but cautious, and not relaxed.

“You kept trying to get me to meet you in Chicago.”

“Ya started askin’ fer favors outta tha blue – changes tha established boundaries a bit, don’t it? Coulda forced yer hand at breakfast, I was right there on tha same patio – nothin’ woulda stopped me walkin’ up an’ puttin’ that phone on yer table in front o’ yer gal. Instead, had it covert delivered – kept my distance an’ waited fer ya t’ call.”

He was quiet again for a while, and Victor let him think, though the need to change topics before the man figured out the rest was crawling under his skin.

“I wasn’t ever very civil to you on the phone.”

“Don’t matter none. Hearin’ yer voice talk t’ me was ‘nuff. Ya hero types ain’t built t’ like me.”

Stark’s voice turned controlled and carefully neutral. Victor wished he could see his face, to be able to read him better.

“Then you pulled me out of an ice crater and didn’t waste much time trying to push things, no matter how I said no. Classic escalation? Now that you’ve had all this to feed the obsession, what happens when I have to leave?”

“Ain’t gonna hurt ya, Tony. I know I’m crazy as fuck, an’ ya figured out some things can be dicey, but I ain’t gotta plan t’ keep ya or t’ hurt ya if ya go. Yer gonna hafta leave sooner or later, an’ I’m always globe-hoppin’ somewhere.”

“Why did you push...?” he whispered.

“Cuz … I thought there’d be no chance ya could ever be willin’, unless tha media was right ‘bout what a slut ya are – hit buttons ‘til ya fig out how t’ start tha motor, then yer willin’. Wanted ya too bad not t’ try. I don’t ‘pologize fer my wants, but I never meant t’ terrify ya. Had my fill o’ ‘lessons learned’ t’ be honest – but it took me a bit before it sunk in that makin’ an enemy outta ya wasn’t how I wanted it t’ go.”

Stark didn’t answer for an unusually long time, and Victor tried to be patient. He could almost hear the gears turning in the man’s head and his scent shifted with his mercurial thoughts at a rate that was hard to track.

For a moment, Victor felt uneasy and utterly inferior to this man. He was Grendel with dripping red claws, a monster of brutish violent hungers – the soul of destruction. In his arms, he held a painfully modern Prometheus, who had created the gift of fire to warm all of mankind. He had dedicated himself to saving lives while Victor had spent all of his long life snuffing them out.

 _This is smoke,_ he thought, and closed his eyes. _I ain’t nothin’ he’d ever want, let alone need. Just an illusion..._ His fingers began to slip away from the warm blue fire that gave comfort.

Tony’s hand covered his over the reactor and held it there. “Okay, I accept all of that – just don’t ask me to prom.”

Victor nearly choked on the relief that flooded through him. He sighed into Tony’s hair, nuzzling it again in pure need.

Burying his fears, he muttered, “Cuz yer spoken fer?”

“Yes – I’m going steady with the bar.”

~ ~ ~

Time in the onset of polar night was a difficult thing to gauge, but Victor knew they’d gotten some hours of sleep in. Tony had woken him once to mate with him again and Victor had wordlessly rolled to his stomach to give his body to his lover.

“Let me hear that hungry growl, honey,” he had whispered in Victor’s ear when he mounted him. Victor couldn’t have helped making those sounds when he was pierced and claimed.

~ ~ ~

He woke with a start when Tony left his side, but once he saw that he was headed for the back of the rig, Victor smirked, rolled to his belly, and closed his eyes again.

“I know you’re awake,” Tony called out.

“Havin’ a prob back there, princess? Try jigglin’ tha handle.”

“Ha ha. Are we burying things like cats do, or what? I assume there’s a ‘don’t attract polar bears’ aspect of this camping trip.”

“I’ll bury it before we leave, don’t worry ‘bout it. Are ya hungry?”

“Definitely. Cover your ears if you’re delicate, but if this sort of thing is a turn-on for you, it’s not something I’m interested in sharing – FYI.”

“That ain’t one o’ my kinks, flyboy.”

Victor got up, batted his braid off of his chest, and opened the steamer trunk.

“Do you have to hunt breakfast? I gather you poisoned or spoiled all of the camp supplies and I didn’t see you pack anything edible.”

Fishing out his stash, Victor put the duffel bag on the bed. He got into the Cheetos in five seconds flat.

Tony reappeared, grabbed his underwear and jeans, and put them on before sitting on the bed.

“What on earth are you scarfing down like a starving baboon? Cheetos?”

Victor swallowed and grinned as he nodded. “They’re my crack. Got venison jerky an’ beef jerky, assorted other goodies. Ya can have a Twinkie if ya want one.”

“Now it feels like a slumber party. Are we going to play ‘light as a feather, stiff as a board’ later?”

“Play what-tha-fuck?”

“Not important.” He picked up a package of beef jerky and joined in.

“We need t’ be quick an’ find out what’s what, so … recon.”

“No problem.”

~ ~ ~

Victor put Tony’s arctic gear in the cab of the rig and stuck the empty trunk back on the sled. He locked his phone into the glove box before turning to see Tony half encased in metal over the ballistic mesh suit. The rest of it was on top of his steamer trunk, but the bed was broken down and packed away. As he watched, Tony tucked his phone into its place in the suit.

“I’m impressed that you figured out how to get me out of this correctly without being tempted to cut anything on it.”

“Figured that wouldn’t make friends, neither.”

“Wow, this takes a while when I’m not at home. I need to fix that.”

Victor watched him with a vague restless upset sparking along his nerves. When Tony straightened in the boots, he couldn’t swallow a growl fast enough. The man was abruptly his match in height.

Tony flashed him a smile. “Does this tilt our size kink on its ear? It’s only the rocket boots, honey.” He finished with the second arm and then approached as he put the helmet on, leaving the faceplate up. “Come here often, blondie?”

Victor arched an eyebrow as he looked at him. “Gold-titanium alloy?”

“Yes?”

“I can cut that.” Victor smirked as he held up a hand and popped a claw.

Tony leaned his head down and took the finger, claw and all, into his mouth. Victor hissed and retracted it fast before the idiot sucked on it.

“I win. Give us a kiss, killer.”

Victor growled, but kissed him. “Don’t get killed, ya damn fool.”

“I have wrist-mounted missiles, hip-mounted flare launchers, and shoulder-mounted machine guns, among other goodies – I’ll be fine. Get ready to roll out; I’ll find the rig after I locate the base.” He turned for the front tent flaps and headed outside.

“If ya don’t get lost again,” Victor muttered. He pulled his arctic jacket on over his t-shirt and followed him out.

“Good thing you got a D- in stealth; I could find that truck from space.”

Once the faceplate went down, he only had the man’s scent to prove to his hissy inner beast that Tony was inside that thing.

“Did you have a nice nap, JARVIS?” The metal figure turned slightly to look at Victor before facing the vast polar night again. “Him? Believe it or not, he’s not the threat.”

Victor snarled when the rocket boots fired up and the metal man began to hover. CNN hadn’t prepared him for how fucking weird it was to see that thing in person.

“Try not to miss me, honey,” Iron Man called out and then he flew away. The low mechanical voice didn’t even sound like Tony’s.

To push away the nagging thought that he might not come back, Victor got to work on packing the steamer trunk and heaters before tearing down the tent.

_Almost hope a polar bear comes by an’ wants t’ try eatin’ me – I could use tha stress relief._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to the conch shell, Piggy, and Jack are from the book "Lord of the Flies", by William Golding, in which the character holding the conch shell was allowed to speak in a gathering. Also, (Spoiler Warning for the heck of it) Piggy, the intellectual character, is killed by Jack, the savage primal hunter. Grendel is a monster in the Old English epic poem "Beowulf", written in England between the 8th and 11th century by an anonymous Anglo-Saxon poet referred to by scholars as the “Beowulf poet”. Prometheus is a titan from Greek Mythology who stole fire from the gods and gave it to humans. The borrowed phrase “a warm light for all mankind” belongs to Marvel. Thanks for reading! -  AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	5. Blood on Ice

 

Fire in the hole!  
This here ain’t no serenade  
More like a hand grenade  
My flag will wave and never fade  
I’m comin’ down like an air raid  
Fire! Fire in the hole  
Fire! Fire in the hole

I’m about to explode  
Yeah I’m out of control  
I’m the rock and the roll  
I’m the fire in the hole  
Its got me trapped in a haze  
Burnin’ in flames  
Goin’ up in a blaze  
Oh no  
Fire in the hole  
Fire in the hole

I’m about to pull the pin  
5 count then the end  
Hell to pay and all is lost  
‘Cause I’m about to set it off  
Fire! Fire in the hole  
Fire! Fire in the hole

I’m about to explode, I’m out of control  
Its got me trapped in a haze, burnin’ in flames

I’m about to explode  
Yeah I’m out of control  
I’m the rock and the roll  
I’m the fire in the hole  
Its got me trapped in a haze  
Burnin’ in flames  
Goin’ up in a blaze  
Oh no  
Fire in the hole  
Fire in the hole  
Fire in the hole

~ Fire in the Hole (Texas Hippie Coalition)

*****************************************************************

“Sir, that person is wanted by–”

“Nearly every national or international agency with a shiny acronym – I know. He’s an ally for now, and he saved my life. Eyes on the prize, JARVIS; there’s a Hydra base out here, and we need to find it.”

Relying heavily on JARVIS to scan for the base, Tony tried to keep his thoughts on the mission instead of on Victor. As if bedding him nearly all night wasn’t enough of a distraction, the mutant’s hatred of Hydra was a stumper. Anyone taking a peek at Victor’s INTERPOL file would assume he was a prime target for Hydra to recruit, especially with their habit of letting particularly useful persons climb the ranks for more power.

“Huh,” he muttered, “that’s an unpleasant thought…”

“Sir?”

“What can you find on a man named Catalyst – he’s supposed to be one of Hydra’s torturers, a scientist, possibly deceased? It could be old news, by now. All of that stolen ‘top secret’ data from them that Dad got, and the stuff we’ve been collecting – any hits?”

One of the displays flashed and the question was put on hold.

“It appears we have found the base, sir.”

Tony kept low in case they had radar. “It looks like Christmas Eve at Santa’s workshop down there.”

Two different entrances were lit and open in what appeared to be a small mountain in the middle of the frozen ocean. Transports and trucks mounted with various weapons were driving in and out. Machine gun turrets were mounted on the concealed base itself. Flying around it at a distance, it was clear that the structure was not large.

“It’s small enough to hide out here for months, as long as they have a working supply line and the ice doesn’t melt under them – but they aren’t trying very hard to hide. It’s probably a safe bet that Victor stomped the anthill when he shot down the F-22. Grab some surveillance photos, huh? Then we’ll go locate our … ally.”

As he turned to head back, JARVIS returned to his earlier request.

“Catalyst: a high-ranking Hydra agent, a scientist, and often employed as a torture expert. He was identified as a mutant, with the ability to manipulate the elemental content of any object near him.”

“Ouch. When was he operating and does the data agree he’s deceased? Also, can you find any record of him tangling with Victor Creed?”

“Data is incomplete, but Catalyst was active through most of the 1960s, listed as deceased at a Hydra base on the outskirts of Jerusalem – the first time.”

“A bad penny,” Tony muttered.

“Hydra data contains sessions recorded by Catalyst in Israel with a captured CIA agent named Victor Creed. The sessions were listed as tests but the data suggests it was torture. Do you want the details, sir? The footage is limited.”

“Footage? Yikes. Ah, not now – it’s too soon after breakfast to deal with Victor getting his elemental content manipulated. Any notes from the Hydra creep himself?”

“Agent Creed is described as the finest specimen available to him in his career. He was tested for nearly a week and there is evidence recorded in the data of psychological trauma sustained by the subject, who was referred to as a genetic oddity.”

Tony suppressed a shudder. “Funny thing for one mutant to call another – kettle, pot. No mention of Adamantium on bones?”

“None, sir.”

“Why was Agent Creed there?”

“He was on an extraction mission, sent to help a Mossad agent named Amichai Benvenisti. Both men and their extraction target were captured, but they escaped. Catalyst was reported dead by Hydra, killed in one of his torture mechanisms – some sort of chemical vat; it is unclear if the agents caused his death.”

Scanning the area for the heat signature of Victor and the rig, he located the vehicle soon enough – but wasn’t ready yet to return.

“Let’s just shadow him for a bit. How about the next time Catalyst died – and where Victor Creed was supposed to be at the time?”

“Catalyst was again listed as deceased in a facility on an island off of Newfoundland, during the time that Creed was serving as a conscripted member of the U.S. government’s mutant team, X-Factor. Creed and another member, codenamed Mystique, were reported KIA in a shuttlecraft crash. They both later returned to their team.”

“Handy trick. What was Catalyst doing in Newfoundland?”

“Information from a captured AIM agent stated that Catalyst, a Hydra scientist, was working on a program called Access in the facility where he was killed. AIM was attacking the facility to acquire the program.”

“Access – that was the thing that could tap into and decode secure transmissions, pretty much anywhere, from anyone. I read that report. Access was used to fake an otherwise very real U.S. nuclear strike on Russia. My stolen light reading from SHIELD files said it was stopped when the Access system was destroyed – before it inspired Russia to fire back at us. SHIELD didn’t discover who or what destroyed it – or who killed Catalyst, right?”

“Correct, sir. Hydra records in your or SHIELD’s possession state that Catalyst is still listed as deceased.”

“KIA in a shuttlecraft crash, huh? After the facility gets trashed and Catalyst is killed, again – these dead X-Factor agents come home. Creed claims he wanted to kill the man, but someone else did – maybe that Mossad agent the first time, and this Mystique person the next. AIM is mostly useless. Does SHIELD have any photos of the damaged Access system?”

JARVIS put a few images up, and Tony whistled at the mess but fell silent when a closeup plainly showed slash patterns in the wreckage.

“Creed’s claws, sans Adamantium – his files say they can cut some metals and even stone. Does any metal or composite in that wreckage consist of a substance he couldn’t cut, with or without enhanced claws?”

“None – and comparing the slash marks to some of Creed’s victims, it could be a match.”

“Holy shit. Victor prevented a thermonuclear World War III. X-Factor had him working for them as a way to pay for his crimes – they used a control collar to force him to obey them. SHIELD data proved he hated X-Factor; he wouldn’t have done that hit for them, especially while AWOL. So, why?”

“Perhaps a destroyed world is a challenge for the assassin business.”

“Yeah, and people who long to live the Mad Max dream comprise a pretty short list. Well, whatever his motives were, the evidence suggests that he hates Hydra pretty damn bad – so I probably don’t need to worry that he’s secretly working for them. Okay ... it’s time to report on our reconnaissance flight.”

Swooping down, he shot past the driver’s door of the rig to alert Victor and then landed close when he stopped it. The mutant left it running, but opened the door and turned on the seat to face him with one cleatless boot propped on the top of the tire.

Tony lifted the faceplate, gasping at the cold, but failing to notice the fanged smirk until after he’d been caught checking out his tent roommate.

 _I could swear off twinks for that – especially if bossing him around is tossed in as an extra._ “Hi honey, long time no see.”

“Ya find tha fuckers?”

“All business, no play?” Tony returned the smirk. “Found the little anthill you stirred up – it’s within our range by size and weaponry. Whoever designed it likes the Wizard of Oz way too much.”

“Bet it was all research an’ supply equipment – maybe a few ground-pounder troops fer a security detail?”

“From what I saw, yes – although not seeing aerial support doesn’t mean they don’t have any.”

“Sure it does – if they had toys like that, they’d be usin’ ‘em t’ find yer souvenir up there.” He jabbed a thumb toward the roof over his head. “Hydra assholes are arrogant fucks, always were – at least since tha 1940s when I first ran int’ ‘em.” He scratched at his scruffy chin. “They’re so cocksure nothin’ can best ‘em, they probly got zip fer a plan B after their experiment got shot down. Hopefully, they think it got sunk – if we use it on ‘em before they know it was salvaged, that’s a tidy li’l advantage fer us.”

“Agreed, but if we get blindsided by flying monkeys, I reserve the right to say I told you so. Research and Development types could have a few other experimental weapons hidden up in the old castle. They’re stirred up and scattered a bit right now, however – no time like the present?”

Victor nodded and started talking tactics and strategy with impressive skill and obvious experience – it was pretty sexy, really. Tony frowned at the thought of that crazy scientist freak experimenting on him.

“Do you think Catalyst could be alive – and out here with them?”

Victor didn’t miss a beat. “If he turns up, he’s mine – third time’s tha charm. Did ya hear a word I just said?”

“I did, actually – not your first rodeo. I like the bits about watching out for armed scouts, hitting them hard and fast, zapping their power – end game: mass destruction.”

“Mass kills.” Victor watched him intently. “Ain’t never gonna catch me not killin’ any warm body wearin’ those colors, hero.”

Sighing, Tony nodded. “Hydra allegiance is pretty much on my list, too.”

“Good.”

“I wish we had a way to keep in contact during the fight. I could patch JARVIS into your phone?”

“Yeah, I see that happenin’. Ain’t likely t’ answer in tha middle o’ a scrap, anyhow, an’ need both hands free t’ kill these asswipes. Ya wanna talk t’ me, fly over an’ talk – just stay outta tha way if tha sharp bits are flailin’ ‘round. Watch how close ya get comin’ up behind me, too – it can turn int’ way too close in an awful hurry before I know it’s ya.”

“Don’t enter the base alone without letting me know you’re going in there – when it comes to turning it into a scrap heap, I’d like both of us topside. I tend to think lobbing ordinance from a distance is a better plan.”

“I’ll aim fer that. Never know how this shit’ll go down once it starts.” Victor cocked his head at him, one eyebrow arching. “Considerin’ how much ya like yer new toy, ain’t ya even a li’l tempted t’ go shoppin’ in there first?”

“Are we going hunting for old grudge matches and treasure, or are we just going to sink the whole mess in a power-zapped fireball? I know which option gets us on our way faster.”

“What if they got prisoners?”

“Why would they?”

“Test subjects. Not too far-fetched they could have tha pilot they stole tha F-22 out from under.”

“Are you trying to pretend that would matter to you? If you want to go in just to sniff out that freak, say so. We can’t operate like a team if you have a secret agenda.”

Victor glared at him. “If he survived again – I need t’ make sure he won’t this time.”

“If Catalyst survived, he could be anywhere. Also … wouldn’t he be ancient?”

“A guy who can manipulate elements in a body could make sure he never ages, I’m bettin’ – wouldn’t explain why he’d choose t’ stay so fuckin’ ugly, but still. Know what I just noticed? Yer not askin’ me a dozen questions ‘bout tha man. Had yer robot go diggin’, huh? Checkin’ my backstory before ya pop down a rabbit hole?”

“I needed to know. Now I do. I know he... I know what he did to you. I understand why you need to be sure.”

Victor stared down at the snowy ice between them. Whether or not it was possible physically, he looked tired – or tired of.

“Maybe he ain’t in this base, but if I hunt others down an’ knock ‘em all over, might could find tha bastard eventually. What else am I gonna spend fuckin’ eternity doin’?”

“Well, no one can say you don’t have a strong work ethic. Okay, let’s postpone all of that sexy ‘burn it flat’ strategy you had me sold on and talk infiltration and rescue prior.”

Victor glanced up to turn that alien glowing stare on him. “Are ya tryin’ t’ pretend makin’ a plan an’ stickin’ t’ it matters t’ ya? Yer tha ‘wing it’ type an’ ya know it.”

Frowning, Tony gave in and nodded once. “You win – I am. I just don’t want to put this base on the bottom of the Arctic Ocean with you under it.”

“Plenty o’ folks would thank ya fer that.”

Tony’s frown didn’t waver. “I’m going to ignore you now.”

“New plan. We blow up tha artillery an’ zap its power t’ zero, then I go in an’ mop up. Ya search fer prisoners an’ if there ain’t none, shop ‘round. When we’re out, we’ll burn it down an’ sink it.”

“Solid plan. If I do find any prisoners, I’ll probably have to call SHIELD to pick them up – just to be safe. You shouldn’t be here when they arrive, since you have to deliver my souvenir. I definitely don’t want them to get their mits on it.”

Victor nodded. “I avoid SHIELD mooks on principle. We goin’ in tha direction ya came from?”

“Yes. Your crow was spot-on.” He watched as Victor glanced in that direction. _He’s so … huge … he’s on the cusp of looking, well, ‘wrong’, but… This is like bunking and teaming up with a biological weapon. All that strength and ferocity, the power and confidence – all the things he must know just from living and fighting for so long. I really should have a drink or ten with him and get him to tell me things: tactics, battle stories – or even what it was like to live before gasoline-powered automobiles and indoor plumbing._ He smiled as he studied the mutant’s powerful body. _I’d need to be worn ragged in bed first, though, or I’d be too distracted to listen to a word he said._

Tony moved closer to touch him but Victor flinched at the rising metal hand coming close to his face.

“I was going to say that you aren’t afraid of anything – why does the suit make you nervous?”

“Never scrapped with ya before, dunno how bad that thing could pound me – it puts tha inner kitty’s back up.”

“Victor…”

He took another step into his space and let him flinch again as he brought his hand in and touched the blonde fur over the cheekbone. The expressive lips lifted for a beat to snarl, but then stopped.

“I’m not going to do anything – to you. Okay? Trench buddies, right? This is our foxhole.”

The alien amber cat eyes had looked the most human they ever had until Tony had approached and the blue light from the reactor made the pupils contract to black slits again. When he shifted on the seat and leaned in, Tony let him kiss him. It was soft, a mere light press of lips.

“I ain’t fearless, ya know – pretty worried ‘bout ya gettin’ whacked.”

“I’m really good at this sort of thing. Trust me.”

The lips finally stretched into a smirk. “I’ll aim fer that,” he repeated.

“Excellent. Off we go then, to battle evil – for America, freedom, and apple pie!”

“Speak fer yerself, Yankee Doodle. Though – I could be motivated fer pie.”

“So why are you doing this?”

“Told ya – Hydra are a stack o’ assholes.”

“That works for me, too, actually.”

“An’ I ain’t doin’ shit fer a pile o’ Yanks – I’m a proud Canuck.”

“I’ll make a note of that. No more USA-only patriotic exclamations – I got excited.”

“Got everythin’ we need? Plus our half-baked sorta agreed t’ plan?”

“We’re short a scarecrow and a wide-eyed girl from Kansas, but sure – let’s mess up some flying monkeys.”

Victor snorted at him and turned away, one hand on the door handle. “Can we attack now?”

Tony grinned and closed the faceplate. “Yes, let’s.” He launched into the air and flew ahead of the truck to lead Victor to the base.

~ ~ ~

“Sir, incoming.”

“Got it – looks like we’ve been spotted.”

Tony dodged the shots from the machine gun, just barely, but the enemy had a lot of them, mounted on small turrets all over the base and on the vehicles that were still milling around it. The way the base turrets moved bothered him.

“What is that? Check it – is it one of mine?”

“Self Defense Remotely Operated Weapon turret, small calibre arm, with a target-range of 600 meters – fitted with an experimental automatic targeting system made by Stark Industries.”

“Damn it! That’s the one I scrapped after coming up with better for the Jericho!”

He got ready to dodge again when the Ugly Pumpkin leaped into the fray. The truck was still moving, but Victor was standing in the back aiming his anti-tank gun. Before the turret could fire again, it was blown to scrap.

Tony laughed. “He’s got that damn ugly thing on some sort of remote?” Looking down at the roof of the cab, he saw a black box mounted there that he hadn’t bothered to notice before. “That’s what he was fiddling with when he stood up in the cab. I’m not his only toymaker, then – should I be jealous? Scan that thing.”

“It is a device connected to the vehicle’s engine – similar to a remote control for a toy car scaled up in size and rudimentary at best.”

The scan popped up on his screen and made Tony chuckle. “The cover opens and he has switches and buttons with a joystick design – if he made that himself I’m going to be very impressed – rudimentary or not. I thought he’d have to park to work those guns.”

They made the polar night look like a fireworks show, destroying turrets on the base and on the vehicles that had begun to swarm toward the orange truck. Tony swung around to fly up on Victor’s left, keeping a safe distance just in case.

“Those SD-ROW turrets have one of my automatic targeting systems onboard. Feel free to blow a whistle. When were you going to tell me you could drive and shoot from back there?”

Victor glanced up but then went back to shooting turrets and vehicles. “Figured ya recognized tha box,” he shouted overhead. “Here they come – ya gonna get back on tha stick, or what?”

“You aren’t using the pulse weapon?”

“Savin’ it in case some o’ yer flyin’ monkeys show up – once it goes off, tha cat’ll be outta tha bag!”

Tony didn’t have time to respond. He hit some of the vehicles in the forefront of the attack with repulsors and then flew high again to shoot missiles at the stationary turrets. Below him, vehicles and people were being turned into parts all over the ice.

Turning another machine gun into a smoking curl of metal, he saw a strange hole open below it. An ugly long barbed metal tip appeared.

“What the hell?”

He maneuvered out of the way and lifted a hand to shoot it when it launched like a harpoon. Two others almost hit him as he realized there was one under each of the turrets. Flying higher, he scanned the field of battle.

“Some of those things hit their own people!”

The anti-tank gun went off with another boom and he heard Victor roar. Turning that way, Tony stopped in the air in shock. One of the metal harpoon shafts had broken through the exo-cage and hit the mutant. As he watched, the weight and force of it drove the man to his knees in the bed of the truck. Tony couldn’t look away, even as strange noises began to echo near the ridge top behind him.

“Victor…” he whispered.

“Sir, the base is opening.”

“Screw the base. He’s hurt.”

Without a second thought, Tony flew down to get to his companion.

The bed of the truck was splashed with blood, and a thick metal pole was sticking in the mutant’s torso below the sternum. Most of it was on the other side – bursting out of his back below the ribcage. The whole shaft was eight feet long, its wicked curved barbs buried in the truck as the monsterous thing propped him up on his knees with his arms hanging down.

Covered in blood, some of it coming out of his mouth, the mutant stared up at him and for a sickening moment, he thought he was already dead.

“Victor!”

The huge body twitched as he snarled. “Tony … flyin’ monkeys – ten o’clock...”

“I have to get that out of you!”

“Don’t freak out over me gettin’ run through,” he groused, as more blood burst from his mouth over his chin, “yer too smart fer that bullshit.”

“Too smart–!” Tony sputtered.

JARVIS broke through his panic. “Incoming, sir – Hydra agents in some kind of unknown jet packs. The base has opened and a dirigible airship is preparing to depart.”

“Fuckin’ retro freak motherfuckers…” Victor muttered, coughing blood. “Shoot it with tha pulse weapon.”

“You could die!”

Growling, Victor reached behind him and slashed his claws through the harpoon shaft near the buried barbs.

“Not t’day.”

He fought to his feet, taking the harpoon with him.

“Oh god,” Tony whispered.

A shot hit the side of the truck and he snapped back into his senses. Anger rippled and the repulsors began to fire. Jet pack flying Hydra agents and more attacking vehicles were obliterated. He would protect Victor – and they were all going to die for what they’d done.

*****************************************************************

Victor struggled up to reach the controls for the pulse weapon.

_Fuck! This bloody pole hurts! No time t’ cut or pull it out – a transport like that’s probly carryin’ every-damn-thing an’ warm body worth salvagin’ from this shit show. Can’t … allow it t’ leave…_

Almost invisible in the polar night, the black bladder was filling with helium as it unfurled in the open air over the base. Narrowing his eyes in the lights from the gondola, his enhanced mutant vision spotted the mechanism that was both filling it and preparing to release it.

Gripping the controls to aim the pipe muzzle, he hissed at the pain of the harpoon moving through his torso. Tony was killing the enemy all around them, keeping them off.

He hadn’t seen a working airship more impressive than Goodyear since the 1940s zeppelins, and the sight of it combined with the pain of his injury threatened to pull him into a bad flashback. Shaking his head violently, he aimed beneath the front of the gondola where the mechanism was chugging away and worked the firing sequence.

Victor stumbled, trying not to fall. “Fuck ya t’ hell,” he mumbled at the airship, grinning fiercely at the sight of the deflating bladder covering and tangling up the structure it had tried to rise from. A splash of red – the Hydra emblem – fluttered and sank in the mess of black material.

Shouts and motors got louder in his ears. Looking around, he saw the unnaturally tall figure of Iron Man beating back the enemy just before many of them broke ranks and sped off for the open entrances to the base.

“Cocksuckers,” Victor cursed with a hiss. “Runnin’ like roaches when ya turn on a switch.” He growled and spit blood at his feet. “Ass-lickin’ cowards…”

“Enough,” Iron Man announced, turning to him. The faceplate went up and Tony huffed in anger before he gripped Victor’s shoulders and glared at him. “Okay, sit down ... and shut up. I’m going to help you, and I have a couple of very important things to say to you.”

Victor fell on one hip before he could be helped to sit and snarled at the lurching pain. “Make it quick, flyboy.”

“You’re still shutting up. One, telling me to not freak out over someone shoving a pole through you is ... insane. Two...”

Tony’s tirade and attempt to grip the harpoon stopped as Victor batted his hands away. He cut the pole shorter on both sides with claws and pulled it out slow, hand over hand, as the back section clanged onto the truck bed behind him. He tossed the other end out over the side onto the ice and sagged where he sat as his body healed in front of Tony’s eyes, in less than three minutes.

Victor arched an eyebrow at him. “Are ya plannin’ t’ cough up a ‘two’ soon, or should I go ask fuckin’ Hydra if they mind givin’ us a longer time out while ya tinker it t’gether?”

Grunting in surprise when the metal fingers reached through the hole in his clothing to touch his unbroken skin, Victor froze and watched him.

“I may never get used to that...”

“Cop a feel later.” Victor twitched away from his touch and then leaned back and got his hands under him, struggling to rise. “We still gotta fight t’ win. Ya game?” He settled on his feet and looked at the base.

The faceplate shut with a snap behind him and the mechanical voice spoke, sounding even more flat and cold than before.

“Hit the structure with the pulse weapon in a few strategic spots, and then drive the truck off out of the way. I’m going to fetch some of that balloon material to cover it with. Then I’m going in there to look for your proposed prisoners. Don’t creep up on me – you’re not the only one who can get trigger-happy.”

Glaring back at him, Victor stepped up to the weapon again. “Ya see a li’l greasy smear o’ a freak that looks like a mutated toad on a hotplate – big glasses – mits off. Catalyst’s mine.”

The blank metal face and glowing eyes stared at him. “No problem.” Iron Man rose and flew off to the top of the base.

Growling, Victor worked the controls and methodically swung the long barrel in the turret slot the inventor had cut into the exo-cage. Avoiding the red and gold armored figure, he gritted his teeth as he fired the weapon.

~ ~ ~

Victor stalked through the bowels of the place, targeting any area supported by emergency generators that had been activated after he’d used the pulse weapon to turn the power grid into empty scrap.

Over and over again, he thought he had discovered secrets worth finding in different rooms of the base, but every one of them was a false hope. The equipment was wrong, the layout of the place was not the same, and none of the machines were familiar.

A multitude of scents were laced and layered over all of it, but none of them were the one he wanted to hunt.

_No scent or sign o’ Catalyst – could search ‘til I die an’ never find tha bastard._

Growling, he continued to search and scent. Any human or mutant in Hydra colors he came across, he killed. Before they died, they were all asked the same questions.

In a lab with precious little equipment, one man carrying a black leather satchel nearly ran into him at full speed. He dropped his satchel, and a lot of papers and what looked like records and plans began to spill out.

Victor stepped on the leather and snatched the man by the throat. “Scientist an’ torturer named Catalyst, high rank – is he alive? If not here, where?”

“Please – I don’t know him –”

Snarling, Victor shoved his clawed hand into the man’s abdomen and made a mess. He watched the creature die and then threw the corpse out of his way.

Many of them had said no, some had said yes, but they were lying. The more he wearied of the game, the more brutally they died.

Looking down at the bloodspattered papers and leather, he bent and scooped it all back inside the satchel. Taking off the blood-smeared belt of the corpse, he looped it through the handles of the satchel a few times and then fastened it around his own belt to hang it behind him.

_Stark might want it – gotta be somethin’ here worth all this bullshit._

Before he moved on, he went to the crumpled remains. Staring down at the dead man as the fixed stare looked back up at him, Victor lifted his boot and set it over the face. In one swift powerful drive, he shoved the heavy treads through the skull. A twist to get his boot free nearly tore the jagged pulp from the rest of the corpse.

_Wastin’ my time with this shit – he … ain’t here. So now they’re just gonna die – every last fuckin’ one o’ tha fascist pinheads._

He turned to leave the room and when he reached the next set of stairs, the generators died before the echo of an explosion far above him could finish ringing in his ears. Shouts sounded along the stairs and winding corridors overhead – the bleating and squealing of his prey.

~ ~ ~

The next piece of shit Hydra fool gurgled as it slid off of claws and crumpled at his feet in the dark. They were helpless and panicking inside or outside of the base in the pitch black solely because they couldn’t see.

Since he’d drained the power of the place so thoroughly and Stark had killed the generators, Victor was as blind as they were – his mutant eyes unable to glean even a little light to see by. Not that it mattered. If he couldn’t see, his nose and ears took up the slack.

In the distance ahead and still above him on another level, he could hear Stark firing his repulsors. There were screams there, too – the man was as good as his word.

Victor’s thoughts turned away from his battle partner at the sound of the next human heading his way, groping in the dark. They were pathetic, but they were still prey.

The hate burned in him for every breathing soul wearing that foul red curling skull sigil. The smoke of it ran through his veins, filling his thoughts until killing them was all he had left.

As he moved to take the next, the blood of the rest stretched out behind his boots – a dark trickling stream that no eye could see. The scent and the hate drove him on.

*****************************************************************

Tony felt sick. There were so many of them, and they had kept coming, but it was far from a fair fight. Victor had been right; they were ground troops defending a handful of scientists – no special weapons, no elite fighting force. What was left of them had grouped together in front of the men in dark green scrubs and black arctic gear – the timid guarding the terrified.

On his screen, the Hydra soldiers were targeted one by one – ten left. None of them had lowered their weapons, including the one bureaucrat type.

Behind the scientists, the airship’s gondola was hanging from the supports inside the top tower of the base. Its roof was still open.

When he had entered the wide circular chamber, the troops had been helping the others climb down from the useless transport. They had come to attention at the sight of him as their charges huddled together.

“Should I try saying ‘put down your weapons’ in French? German? No? Really tired of shooting you people. Okay, new plan – you’re going to be my prisoners. So put the guns down and let’s discuss how this is going to go. For starters, has anybody heard of a guy named Catalyst? You in the back – that name ring a bell?”

Hideous scraping noises behind him made them all look, but Tony managed to remember Rhodey’s advice and didn’t take his full attention off of them. Besides, he had a good idea that he knew what – or who – it was.

When Victor came into few, he was running his claws up the wall of the staircase as he glared at the prisoners with baleful malice. Reaching behind his back, the mutant cut something and tossed a dark thick object near Tony’s boots. A quick scan showed him it was a satchel full of enticing records.

“But I didn’t get you anything.”

“I’ll take those snivelin’ jokes…”

Tony looked Victor over but quickly regretted it. The mutant was covered with blood, brain matter, and bone fragments. Tony swallowed as the lights from his suit made the scarlet smears on Victor’s once-white arctic gear glisten as it dripped.

“We can take them in, question them. One or two might know your target.”

“I plan t’ question ‘em right here.”

“Victor – killing the enemy when they’re trying to kill us is one thing, but I’m not going to stand here and watch you torture them.” He took a step to intercept him, one metal hand raised.

“Back off, Stark – this ain’t ‘bout ya.”

“They’re still armed, by the way.”

“Yeah – cuz that’s gonna scare me off.”

Tony frowned but raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Fine. Get shot into meat again.”

When gunfire exploded in the room, Tony twitched and brought up a machine gun only to stare in horror as the bureaucrat completed his sweep of his own people with an M-10. The .45 ACP ammo had ripped them all to shreds at a firing rate of 1090 rounds per minute.

Victor let out an ear-splitting screech and jumped on the man from an insane distance, knocking the machine pistol from his hands.

“Your rage is impotent, beast,” the man spoke into the snarling and dripping teeth of the monster that pinned him down. “They will give you nothing now – and neither shall I. Hail Hydra…” He bit down and began to convulse as froth poured from his rictus mouth.

Tony began to step closer, but froze in shock when the mutant roared and started to tear the body to pieces. He staggered as he was sprayed with it and retreated. A battered black leather satchel appeared between his boots, splattered with gore. Stopping, he stared down at it, unwilling to watch the sick utter destruction of another human being mere feet away.

~ ~ ~

Tony flew back and forth between the suspended airship gondola and the small pile he was making of salvageable data and other equipment and trinkets below it. With a little effort, he could ignore the hulk of the mutant where he sat slumped by the wet desecrated remains of his last victim.

Once, glancing his way, he saw those glowing amber eyes watching him. The mutant’s face was a mask of blood, and Tony was surprised to see long thick ropes of bloody saliva still dripping from those scarlet fangs.

As he stared, Victor brought his arm up and wiped the strands away, but the blood on the sleeve just smeared over his face, making the mess there worse.

Turning away with his guts clenching, Tony got back to work. The next time he flew down, he was surprised to see that the mutant had slipped away without a sound.

_Damn it._

Fisting his gloved hands, he forced himself to look at the bodies – the older scientist, shot to death, who had reacted to the name Catalyst, the others cut down en masse with him, and the insane fascist who had done it. That particular corpse was nothing but a gory shell of skin holding a haphazard jumble of meat and pieces of bones in a wide red pool of blood and shredded viscera.

 _The odds are good that this was a dead end to a very old hunt._ “JARVIS…?”

“Sir?”

“Show me that footage Catalyst made of Agent Victor Creed being … tested. I need to see it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The screams were awful to hear as the grainy clips played out on his screen, but the closeup views of the scientist’s fingers brushing over Victor’s abdomen were worse. The hideous damage left in their wake was quickly healed – to be disrupted, melted, and … polluted … again, the skin erupting in sickening wounds that resembled tumors.

With successive sessions of the same torture, the healing factor had begun to slow down. As his alien invisible power worked, corrupting the flesh, the sadistic sounds of the monster’s enjoyment came through the scratchy audio like an undertone to his victim’s pain. It turned his stomach.

Again and again, the terrible cries of the naked and chained victim sounded, slowly turning into the gibbering mad howls and roars of a raging terrified animal suffering incomprehensible agony.

“Enough… My God…”

Before JARVIS could stop the playback, the final clip ended – with the twisted face of an insane beast staring up at him. Tony stared back at it in shock and then saw the eyes. They weren’t amber pits of slitted malice – they were human, a crystal ocean blue – slowly clouding with confusion and pain … and a fear so deep it could scar both mind and soul.

“Victor…”

*****************************************************************

Stalking through the dark, he retraced his gory trail back down. Thoughts in a tangled mess, he retreated and simply tried not to think.

Somewhere below him, he heard the soft sounds of a human attempting to move with stealth. It didn’t smell like metal, or barely enough to matter – certainly not a gun or rifle.

_Don’t matter none. Just kill it an’ be done._

He dropped into a hunting gait and followed the scent and sounds. It was male and wounded, and reeked of fear – yet the movements had purpose as the prey kept heading downward. It wouldn’t take long to overtake and end it.

When he reached the next set of stairs and sensed the prey at the bottom, he leaped and grabbed, rolling it under him and pinning it. The shout was loud in his ears and they flattened as he snarled at it.

Reaching to hold it down by the shoulder so he could gut it, his palm touched an embroidered patch it wore – twin rectangular bars – captain’s bars. Claws retracting from the other hand, he reached out to touch the long metal zipper of a flight suit. With a hiss, he moved off of the man.

“What … are you?”

“I’m tha guy that ain’t gonna eat ya. Yer a pilot, right? Flew tha F-22 these fuckers stole?”

“Y-yes… Are you – Hydra?”

“I kill Hydra.” Victor crouched and sighed. “Can ya still walk?” It took a moment to realize the man had passed out. With a grunt, he muttered, “Guess not.”

~ ~ ~

He ignored the fleeting bite of the arctic wind, feeling the dull buzz of the healing factor at work to repair the environment’s efforts to damage his skin and organs as he rubbed snow over his face, neck, torso, and arms.

Getting the vast black material off of his rig had taken some effort in the freezing wind. He’d rolled it around the bloody arctic pants and jacket he’d been wearing that were now protecting the pilot in the heating cab. When he was finished and had done all he could for the man, he leaned against the rig in his jeans and boots and crossed his arms over his chest as sleet settled over the fur there. He couldn’t do much about the bloodstains on his braid or boots.

A light flashed in the dark world and he glanced up to see Iron Man flying toward him. He carried another bundle of the black material – presumably the things he’d been piling from the gondola.

Victor hadn’t known if he would return or just leave. Now, he didn’t know what to say to the man. His head drooped.

“Daring hypothermia to get you?” the strange robot voice asked as he set the bundle down in the snow.

“Lent my gear – somebody else needed it more.”

“You captured a prisoner? I thought they were all dead.”

Victor lifted his chin from his chest and stared back at the metal man. “I rescued tha pilot. Don’t open up tha cab, he needs tha heat.”

“The pilot… Who is it?”

Glaring up at him, Victor frowned. “How tha fuck should I know? Wearin’ captain’s bars on a flight suit that’s seen better days. He can’t fly in this shit weather with ya, so I guess he’s gotta ticket t’ ride with me, an’ yer travelin’ solo.”

“Victor – this is amazing. How did you find him?”

“Thought he was ‘nother Hydra goon creepin’ in tha dark an’ nearly gutted ‘im. Noticed in time an’ didn’t – end o’ tha story.”

“Where will you take him? I can still call in SHIELD.”

Victor snarled. “Ya wanna do that, go ahead – I’ll dump ‘im in yer lap an’ head out.”

“Where can you take him without all of that?”

“Alert, where I was gonna take ya. My ride’s there.”

“Do you have enough fuel to get there fast? I could try carrying him, bundled up.”

“I can get there, non-stop, an’ warm tha whole way.”

“Okay, I’ll follow you there. I can call my friend Rhodey and have him meet me with a proper evac transport.”

“Fine by me.”

“Will you still deliver the pulse device to me?”

“If ya make arrangements ‘round my schedule, yeah.” Victor eyed the bulky bundle. “Want me t’ pack that shit, too?”

“That would make flying easier, yes.”

“We sinkin’ this bitch, or what?”

“I can. You should start driving – he’ll need medical attention. Unless … you need to … help destroy it.”

Victor stood straight and headed for the driver’s door. “Nothin’ there I give a shit ‘bout, long as it’s wrecked but good.”

“I want to talk to you before you leave Alert.”

Victor nodded once curtly and entered the cab fast, slamming the door shut. He watched in the mirrors as Iron Man secured the bundle on the sled. When he flew up over it, Victor put the rig in drive and headed out. His passenger was far quieter than the last one.

Before long, the rig rattled and vibrated as an explosion in the distance lit up the polar night. The grinding din of it pinned his ears, but he didn’t slow down or look back.

~ ~ ~

Captain Andrew Tanner was taken out from the Alert airport by the American Air Force and accompanied by Stark’s number three: Colonel James Rhodes. Victor watched the exchange from the ramp of his DC-10-30CF as his people loaded the Ugly Pumpkin. Stark’s breath was white as he greeted his friend in the -8.3 degrees temperature.

Not far beyond the colonel’s plane, a massive jet had landed with the Stark Industries logo on it. It looked like it was probably decked out inside – a very rich man’s flying play palace. Stark had gone in earlier wearing the armor and came out dressed in black, followed by no less than five other people. The facial hair was even freshly re-sculpted.

_So much fer makin’ time t’ talk t’ me – man’s gotta entourage t’ keep ‘im comp’ny now, since ‘is pet colonel is leavin’._

Frowning, Victor turned away to speak to Zane. His pilot and crew would be ready for takeoff soon, but Zane assured him he had some time if he wanted it. When the military aircraft taxied away, Victor climbed up the ramp and started helping the crew secure the rig in the vast cargo hold out of pure nervous energy and frustration.

“This is a bit of overkill for one 2.2 ton truck.”

Victor straightened and turned to see Stark standing at the bottom of the ramp bundled in warm gear that actually fit him. The black was only marred by the white Stark Industries logo on the left side of the padded jacket. The cap with ear flaps looked utterly silly.

“Says tha man with tha flyin’ Palace o’ Versailles that totes just yer ass ‘round tha globe.”

“Touché. Will you talk with me? Maybe give me the tour of this warehouse with wings?”

“If ya wanna take yer stuff with ya now, guess ya can. My crew wrapped up tha device an’ other shit an’ crated it when they took tha anti-tank gun down. It’s lashed in over there.” He gestured vaguely in front of the rig.

“I’d rather wait and let you deliver it – leaves me with less to explain.”

“Suit yerself. Gotta leave soon.”

With a little frown appearing on his face, Stark sighed and began to walk up the ramp. He passed Victor and some of his abruptly very busy crewmen and kept going.

“Is there a passenger cabin in this frozen metal tube? Maybe even coffee? You must have some creature comforts, since you managed to clean up and change clothes.”

Growling softly, Victor followed and then overtook him, leading the way through the passenger area and farther forward to his private cabin. He let Stark in first, and then leaned against the closed door. The other man settled in the wide armchair across from the bed and studied him.

“So talk,” Victor prompted, stifling the growl. “Ya already know what I look like.”

“I won’t pretend watching you tear that man into strips was something I wanted to experience.”

“Bastard sank t’ brutal levels first – when in Rome.”

“You sank to his level so fast, I got splashed by the ripples.”

“If this is gonna be a lecture, stow it, Stark. I ain’t tha type t’ bow an’ scrape like those sycophants ya surround yerself with.”

One hand in a leather glove reached up to brush over his forehead as he slumped a little lower in the chair. When those pretty brown eyes met his gaze again, Victor could see how exhausted he was.

“I don’t want to lecture you. I wanted to say … that I understand. After what Catalyst did to you, of course I understand. Your second round finding him, you destroyed the Access system Hydra had and AIM tried to take – that never came to light much, but if no one ever said ‘thank you’ before, I want to. I appreciate that I didn’t have to grow up in a post-nuclear smoking mess of a world.”

“Bit creepy how much diggin’ ya can do with that bloody robot o’ yers.”

Stark smiled a little. “It’s not a robot, it’s a suit of armor with an AI system built in. I have robots at home, and apparently you haven’t had much practice in taking compliments, so moving on… Can I ask how Catalyst died the second time, if you know?”

“Got dropped in Hydra’s ridiculous retro piranha moat – I didn’t get tha honors.”

“Ouch. So why do you think he could still be alive?”

“I survived fallin’ in there earlier, so why not ‘im?”

“You survived… Is there anything that can kill you?”

“That’s tha million dollar question, ain’t it? I can drown, but ya gotta fig out how t’ keep me down there – good luck with that. Can’t asphyxiate me t’ death with yer dick in my throat … if ya were wonderin’. It’d get messy.”

Stark remained infuriatingly calm. “It was more of a rhetorical question.”

“So ya just wanted t’ say thanks fer some computer bank shit I went all _Animal House_ on probly before ya were outta diapers, or before dear ol’ dad taught ya how t’ ride a bike?”

“I didn’t have much ‘dear ol’ dad’ time.”

“Do tell.” He didn’t intend for the shit-eating cruel sneer to stretch his lips, but there it was.

“Victor, where is all of this hostility coming from?”

Before he could say anything to that, Stark held up a hand to stop him. He pulled off his black fur-lined arctic cap and dropped it into his lap with a huff of breath.

“No, just listen to me, please. You found Captain Tanner, needle in a haystack, and had him bundled up and cared for the best you knew how before I was even aware that he was there. You could have killed him – what is he to you? You saved him. I made damn sure he knew it too, and asked him to not tell anyone about your involvement. Our cover story is that I flew him in and he found the bloody Hydra gear. That means I have a lie between me and Rhodey, and that isn’t something I do. I knew you wouldn’t want the United States Air Force or SHIELD to know about anything you do, so officially – you aren’t even here.”

He moved to sit straight on the edge of the chair. Victor shifted on his boots, watching him.

“I was going to wait to call Rhodey until you left, but Captain Tanner needed better help faster than that. If you hadn’t bandaged him up and started getting him warm as fast as you did, he’d be dead. You saved his life – with no motive to do it that I can figure out. Why did you do that?”

Victor shrugged. “Got no beef with most soldiers, whether they march, fly, or float – long as they ain’t comin’ after me. Served with lots o’ ‘em, Yanks too. It’s tha big brass ya gotta watch out fer. If they leave me be an’ they ain’t Hydra, we’re gonna be five by five.”

Stark’s smile widened. “I think between the two of us, you’ve done more hanging out with the military.” He stood up, left the hat in the chair, and began tugging off his gloves and stuffing them in the jacket pockets.

Scenting the air between them, Victor was surprised to catch his growing heat. It sparked in him instantly, but he remained still and waited, not having any idea what the man would do.

“Thank you for saving him – and me, too.” Those gifted hands began to unbutton Victor’s double-breasted navy bespoke pea coat as soon as he stepped up to him.

“It pleased ya?” he asked, trying to gauge the man’s intent by his expression and scent.

Reaching his black sweater, Stark slipped his chilled hands under it to stroke the fur of Victor’s lower belly. “It warmed the cockles of my heart; not sure what the cockles of my heart are, but darn it, they’re warmed.”

“Can’t read ya fer shit, ya know that? It’s disturbin’ as hell.”

“All that covert sniffing was for naught?”

“Scent says what ya want, don’t say nothin’ ‘bout how. ‘Sides, ya spent a lotta time recently shootin’ me disgusted looks.”

“Most people don’t want to see anyone get shot, let alone watch you at work. I’m planning to just shelve all of that for now – it’s worked for me so far.” One hand fit snuggly against the curve of his aching dick in the black jeans without actually touching it. “You have to miss out on official military gratitude – it seems a shame.”

He let out a short snarl of frustration. “What tha fuck do ya want, Stark?” He grunted when his dick was grabbed and squeezed. The scent of the man’s heat came on stronger and abruptly Victor knew.

“I want you to strip, get on your knees, and put your chest down on that bed. Then I want you to shut up unless you start calling me Tony again.”

Victor remained where he was as his belt and jeans were opened. Stark gripped his cock and pumped it once. He looked up to meet Victor’s intent gaze and winked at him.

“Looks like you’re ready – or you would be,” he added, letting it go and stepping away, “if you were assuming the position I asked for.”

The growl turned low and hungry as he moved off of the door and began to strip, dropping his coat and clothes. He was pushed by guiding hands on his back to get down on the bed before he could tear his boots off. He fell to his knees hard, legs still tangled in jeans as they pooled on the floor. Stark’s zipper sounded loud in his ears and he sucked in a breath when he felt that pretty cock at his hole. It would be a quick dirty grind, and the man had merely freed his dick without stripping at all.

“Oh, honey… Ready?”

Victor growled, needing it so bad, it was hard to talk.

“What was that?”

Swallowing hard, his claws popped and sank into the bed. “Yes, Tony,” he whispered on a desperate exhale.

The cock shoved, stabbing inside his body, and he let out a groan chased by a hiss as it started to thrust, fast and rough. The expensive arctic clothing rubbed at the backs of his thighs and ass as those amazing hands stroked his back.

Lips touched his rippling muscles, the tongue worming into the fur to lick his spine. “Do you want to come?”

“Wanna do what ya tell me t’ do…”

“Good answer – but you may be here a while.” His hands gripped Victor’s hips as his beautiful strong legs pushed against the floor to pound into him harder. “You aren’t allowed to come yet – if you were wondering.” The lips returned to kiss his back gently as his hackles rose in response to the near-brutal mating. “So who owns your time until he gets tired of playing with you?”

Victor swallowed hard and coughed once to stop a growl in its tracks. His body was on fire with need, sparking a desire to obey that might have choked him.

“Tony…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The history Victor has with the Hydra torturer Catalyst was part of the limited edition four-issue series "Sabretooth and Mystique", written by Jorge Gonzales between December 1996 and March 1997. In that story (Tony’s data sources are unaware of this) the Mossad agent Amichai Benvenisti was Mystique in disguise and their extraction target was her on-again-off-again lover, Destiny. “Mad Max” is the main character in the "Mad Max" and "Road Warrior" post-apocalyptic movie franchise of 1979, 1981, and 1985 and portrayed by Mel Gibson. As this story is set in the fall of 2003, Tony wouldn’t know about the remake of 2015. Most people will get all of the “Wizard of Oz” jokes: too many to list here.
> 
> I named the pilot after the Powers Boothe character from the 1984 film "Red Dawn", just because I love that movie. The rank needed to change, though, to have him be more low profile than a Lt. Colonel. "Animal House" is the infamous college comedy of frat boys wrecking stuff. The “cockles of my heart” joke was something I came across in a comment somewhere online, and then forgot where it came from, so I can’t credit it. It was simply too good to pass up.
> 
> I know I’m evil to stop this chapter right there, but I have to leave something for the last chapter, which will be almost solid smut. So… If I missed any typos, I’ll fix them as I find them. Thanks for reading! -  AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	6. Steam King

I’ll tell you something  
I am a wolf but  
I like to wear sheep’s clothing  
I am a bonfire  
I am a vampire  
I’m waiting for my moment

You come on like a drug  
I just can’t get enough  
I’m like an addict coming at you for a little more  
And there’s so much at stake  
I can’t afford to waste  
I never needed anybody like this before

I’ll tell you something  
I am a demon  
Some say my biggest weakness  
I have my reasons  
Call it my defense  
Be careful what you’re wishing

You come on like a drug  
I just can’t get enough  
I’m like an addict coming at you for a little more  
And there’s so much at stake  
I can’t afford to waste  
I never needed anybody like this before

You are a secret  
A new possession  
I like to keep you guessing

When I’m not sure what I’m living for  
(When I’m not sure who I am)  
When I’m not sure what I’m looking for  
(When I’m not sure who I am)

When I’m not sure what I’m living for  
When I’m not sure what I’m looking for  
When I’m not sure what I’m living for.

~ Temptation Waits (Garbage)

*****************************************************************

Tony knew why he had hesitated and held back before, unable to believe that Victor was serious about wanting it so rough. For a moment, he worried about the fact that his bedmate seemed to have difficulty getting off if he wasn’t being hurt, but then he frowned and got to it – this was going to be a proper thank you.

Grateful for daily strength training with Happy, he brought it all into play, aware that the intensity of it wouldn’t allow him to sustain it for long. Before his mind could leap down the black hole of how to fix that problem, he pulled back and shoved in, letting the mutant’s groan slap a mischievous smirk of satisfaction on his face.

The claws were tearing at the mattress through rents in the covers. The powerful body, and having it under his control, was growing dangerously close to a new addiction.

“Oh … oh fuck…” he muttered and gritted his teeth as he came hard enough to end up dizzy for a few seconds. Under him, the muscles of the broad furry back rippled again, the low growl vibrating in that bull neck.

Tony pulled free before the insidious muscle tried to throttle him. Gasping, he managed to fall into the armchair behind him.

Victor stirred, began to move, lost his usual grace and slid into a heap on his ass on the floor, still tangled in jeans and boots. The black pupils were blown into round glassy circles as he glanced up at him. His knees were bent and raised, as the heavy and hard cock hung between the legs and dripped clear pre-cum.

“That looks like fun.”

Sitting up and leaning forward, Tony caught and lifted it with finger and thumb making a collar around the base of the head over the retracted foreskin. Bringing his other hand under it, his fingers rubbed up and down the underside of the shaft as it twitched in his hold. The large frame shuddered, the stare never wavering.

“You strike me as a fan of immediate gratification in general, except in bed like this – or on floor, rather. How did you learn to control it, to hold it off? I’m useless for that – Old Faithful just pops when the time comes.”

“That rhetorical?” Victor whispered.

“No, it wasn’t.”

The strange amber eyes closed with a low moan as the stroking continued. “Had a few lovers who liked t’ play kink games – they taught me how. Wanted t’ please ‘em, so I … learned…”

“Do you want to please me, Victor?”

“Fuck yeah…”

Tony released him. “Take the rest of that off and lie on your back on the bed.”

When he did it and was lying there watching him, Tony unzipped the arctic jacket and started to strip. He smiled to notice those abdominal muscles twitch a few times, as the slick line of pre-cum connected the cockhead to them.

Leaving his clothes and protective gear in the chair, he joined the mutant on the bed, slapping one thigh sharply to make him move it and spread for him. Tony settled on his knees and reclaimed the other man’s cock, pulling it up to his lips as Victor stared at him.

“Claws go in the mattress only, not in you, and definitely not in me.”

Slipping his tongue out, he licked some of the pre-cum straight out of that winking slit and then grinned as he watched the powerful arms go up over Victor’s head to spear the edge of the mattress.

“Good boy. Let’s test your training – don’t come. If you try to knock my teeth into my stomach, it’s game over, got it?”

“Yes, Tony…”

“Excellent.”

Watching the mutant writhe and claw the bed, listening to the hissing growls, Tony knew he was right – this little game was going to be the perfect thing to let him get ready again.

He put his mouth down over the head and lapped up the slick as he played. Aware he hadn’t done this in a while, he didn’t try to take it into his throat, but used his hands to grip the thick shaft in counterpoint to the rhythm of his mouth suckling on and toying with the head. Capable of some decent suction right over the slit, he was rewarded with a serious snarl and enjoyed watching the man arch his long back and stretch his throat out, the lethal jaw dropping until it almost rested against his collarbones.

Just to be that little extra bit of obliging mean, he held a pair of fingers nice and stiff and stuffed them inside that tight muscle, forcing it to give way. Crooking them to toy with the prostate and then thrusting them in and out, he did everything he could to make the man come. Impressed that he hadn’t yet, his other hand squeezed up the shaft as his mouth got back to sucking.

Victor had bent and raised his knees around Tony’s body, the equally lethal claws in the toes digging into the mattress behind him.

Tony pulled his fingers free and used that hand to grip the furry golden ballsack. Shifting his knees closer, he gave the cockhead one last rough suck and then let it fall to slap onto the heaving abdominals.

“Shift your hips up,” was all the warning he gave, and when Victor did it, Tony stabbed his cock back inside. The slick from before made it easier since he hadn’t bothered to ask for lube, and the strangling tight fit made him gasp as he shoved deep.

Loving the grunt and growl, Tony changed the angle of the grip he had on Victor’s balls and squeezed them experimentally.

“I keep neglecting to ask for your safeword.”

“Entrails,” Victor muttered, his breath huffing fast as Tony’s thrusts sped up and grew rough again.

“Of course it is.” Squeezing harder, he added, “Say when…”

Victor never did say when, and in the end Tony was the one who couldn’t take it further. Easing his grip, he kept a steady pressure.

“Stroke yourself for me,” Tony told him.

A note of near-panic ghosted into the voice as the mutant protested, “Gonna blow…”

“Stroke it anyway – because I want you to.”

Growling, Victor took his leaking cock in one hand. “Can I just –”

“No,” Tony interrupted, without a clue what he meant to say. The startle was worth it. “You can come – after I do.”

It was glorious watching Victor jack himself with a trapped sort of worried eagerness on his face. Tony alternated between playing with his nuts and squeezing them hard enough to make any other man cry out.

Thin clear strands of saliva, similar to what a mastiff would produce, dripped from both lower fangs onto the mutant’s furry chest. The fangs were too large to fit inside his mouth, so maybe it wasn’t all that surprising.

_That isn’t something I’m used to dealing with, even in bed with debutantes who have memorized my net worth, but … for the most part, he doesn’t seem to fuss about it. So I won’t either._

Tony had planned to try and last as long as he could manage, but then he ended up staring at the shorter of the two heavy lower fangs in the dropped jaw. The disturbing memory of how it got that way was wrapped up in the reasons for this romp – saying thank you for his life. He could almost feel the muzzle of the AK-15 moving over his hair as the gory monster crouched silently behind his enemy, preparing to spring.

He gripped the thick legs around the bent knees and spread his wider between them so he could change his angle and increase the force of his thrusts.

“Tony,” the mutant whispered, the tone almost pleading. “Need t’, please, I can’t…”

It was moments away and building fast. “Do it – let it rip.”

“But ya said –”

Tony reached out with one hand and covered Victor’s as it gripped his cock. He squeezed the deadly clawed fingers harder just to hear the hiss that would bring him to the edge.

“Come on … do it. I’m…”

Before he could finish, it had him. Victor’s orgasm erupted over their hands, but Tony didn’t care. He was staring at the short fang that was still regrowing to match the other. His thrusts wrung his cock ragged inside that tight warm grip, with the sounds of the writhing lion groaning through his growls to inspire him as they both slowly started to calm and fall silent.

Before he withdrew, knowing Victor was still in the zone, he used his messy hand to get most of the mess off of the huge hand and then offered it – dripping over the barrel chest – to the creature that was lifting his head eagerly to lick it clean.

Tony studied the mouth full of knives, the long barbed tongue as it lapped and licked his fingers, hand, and wrist – and the alien eyes that watched him intently. Taking his hand back to find a missed bit on the thumb, he stuck it in his mouth. Tasting the slight salt and pronounced sweet of it, he winked at the blonde when the purr began.

It was strange when he wasn’t hauled in for a feral possessive cuddle after he flopped down at Victor’s side to catch his breath. The mutant didn’t immediately start licking his throat, nuzzling his hair, or sniffing him, but remained on his back – silent and abruptly moody.

“Are you actually not going to cuddle me like a teddy bear?”

“Ain’t really got tha right.” Victor’s arm lifted and he wiped the saliva away from his face with the fur on his forearm.

“That never stopped you before.”

Since Victor didn’t move, Tony did. He sat up and put a hand on the furry chest, smiling when he felt the heart pounding deep within under a sternum covered with Adamantium. His hand moved in a smooth exploring stroke.

Abrupt perverse curiosity led him to touch exactly where and how the monster Catalyst had. Victor sucked in a breath and his belly, and as the fur shifted, Tony saw something. There were marks, strange little ridges like semi-circles, here and there on either side of his abdomen – mostly obscured by the fur around them, but not over them.

“What is…? How could that happen – why didn’t it heal?”

Ignoring the low warning growl, Tony spread some of the blonde fur out of the way to stare at a patch of the ridged scars that marred the skin over the taut abdomen.

“Please tell me how?”

Victor closed his eyes. “Healin’ factor was maxed out, on tha fritz from overuse with no protein t’ replenish it. Tha damage kept goin’ on while it tried t’ heal it an’ it started t’ fail. After a while, it … got confused, with tha molecular level attack, an’ it … began t’ heal over as scars, incorporatin’ tha corruption as how tha skin should be. Even if I cut it off down t’ tha muscle, when it heals, it makes … that.”

“That doesn’t seem possible… It should know, in the DNA, what to fix and how.”

“Ya can break that daisy chain, even in a critter like me – just takes a bit o’ elbow grease, hellish patience, an’ ‘nuff hate t’ make it stick.”

Tony stared back as the eyes opened to meet his. “You’ve done it?”

Victor winced. “I know I have, just don’t remember. One o’ tha nightmares that plagues my brain when I ain’t got yer Lite-Brite t’ curl up ‘round: I did it – t’ somebody like me.”

He didn’t want to say it, but the answer was obvious. “You mean … Wolverine, the X-Man?”

“Not a chance – tha runt don’t stay still long ‘nuff fer that kinda concentrated effort. Got no clue who it was. Tha hands in tha dream look like mine, but too small, coulda been when I was young…” He shook his head and growled again. “Yer goin’ anyhow – maybe next time that particular horrorshow traipses through my head, I’ll try t’ pay more attention fer ya.”

“That’s okay, feel free to skip it. This sounds like some of that memory block and implant mess, the Weapon X Program?”

“Maybe. Probly.” Victor sighed. “Dunno. Don’t wanna know.”

“I have to go,” Tony whispered.

“‘Course ya do.”

Trying to hide a shiver, Tony hoped he might think it was due to the cold in the simple sleeping cabin. The words were the same – it was one of the things the mutant hunter had said on the phone in Chicago.

 _I still have no idea how he did it, or where he was during those calls..._ Frowning, he forced that right back down. _Apparently, I need another session of getting back on the horse._ He removed his hand from Victor’s skin. “I’m exhausted, though. I can sleep on the jet, but… How about a possessive feral cuddle for the road? You can even nap with your paw on the reactor.”

“Yer tha boss.”

“Don’t start,” he replied, just a touch too sharply.

It was Tony’s turn to sigh as he moved to lie down again and turned his back to the man, scooting in close. After a beat, Victor pulled him in and palmed the reactor.

“That’s more like it. You could hang meat in here – and, if you have, don’t tell me. Since we’re on the topic of things we don’t want to know.”

He could feel the toothy smile breathe over his shoulder. “There goes yer babble mode again. Ya need sleep.”

“I need a drink or seven. Didn’t you have to leave too, or was that a lie to get rid of me? Aren’t you glad it didn’t work?”

*****************************************************************

Victor finally leaned in to nuzzle and sniff at his hair. “We got all tha time in tha world, as tha great Satchmo sang it.”

“Did you see him live back in the day, too?”

“Yup, once – Cotton Club again. Loved that joint. Used t’ sit in tha dark at tha back, but they never worried ‘bout me none there. Hell, probly saw ‘im as a kid haulin’ coal int’ Storyville in New Orleans, but woulda never realized it – too busy poppin’ in an’ outta ‘em brothels day an’ night. I burned through my first Blue Book in a week.”

“Blue Book? I assume this isn’t about cars...”

“Li’l pamphlet book ya could buy fer 25 cents – listed all tha hookers an’ where they lived. In those days, ya could step int’ a mansion on Basin Street an’ get any quality woman in tha place fer $10.”

“That sounds so … romantic. Which days were these?”

“Late 1890s, early 1900s – when I landed in that town, I barely got out again. They were called tha Order o’ tha Garter. Motto on tha Blue Book was Honi Soit –”

“Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense,” Tony interrupted him, smiling. “‘Shame be to him who thinks evil of it’. Cool.”

Victor went still. “Ya speak French? Ya understand Old French?”

“Yes, but more the modern variety. International company, so … I pick up the ones I might need the most. It never takes long. I also have at least a passing interest in anything to do with debauchery. Call it a hobby. That motto is an Anglo-Norman French maxim and shows up in several odd places in English history, too. Sorry to ruin your image of me of being ‘just a science geek’, but hey, I didn’t know what a Blue Book was in that context – learn something new every day. INTERPOL says you speak quite a few languages yourself. We should compare notes sometime over drinks, when you tell me all about more of the crazy things you saw and did way back when.”

Curling up closer and remembering to breathe, Victor closed his eyes. The old words of the beautiful French phrase rolling off of Tony’s tongue had nearly ripped his heart out and stuffed it back in upside down.

After his companion’s babbling chatter habit was overtaken by his exhaustion, the near-quiet crept in around them. With his palm pressed to the arc reactor, Victor let the soft endless sound of it and Tony’s calming breathing lull him into sleep.

~ ~ ~

He woke reluctantly, needing more sleep – but the reason it had been a peaceful rest had wormed out of his embrace and sat up on the edge of the bed. The lamps were still on, but the blue light of the arc reactor was brighter. Victor watched how it illuminated the cabin, trying to memorize it. The words to ask him to stay clotted in his throat.

“Wow, needed that,” Tony muttered, and stretched through a yawn.

Victor reached up to lay his hand flat on the man’s warm smooth back, but then he stood and moved out of reach to fetch his clothes.

Silent and at a loss, Victor watched him dress. When he was bundled up again, complete with the silly hat, he turned to face the bed. The smile was a little cooler, and the arc reactor was hidden.

“Places to go, people to stop worrying.”

“One call solves that,” Victor whispered.

“You’re letting me leave without opting to kill me, right, stalker-boy?”

“Not gonna hurt ya, Tony. Wouldn’t – not even if I was paid t’.”

“We’ll see, I guess. I can be super annoying – I bet someone, somewhere has thought about it.”

Victor didn’t reply to that. Rubbing his face with one hand, he struggled to sit up. “I can show ya out.”

“Stay in bed. I’m sober enough to find my jet, and unless I do it solo, it won’t be a proper walk of shame.”

“Suit yerself.”

He watched Tony head for the door. It hadn’t been locked, but not one of his employees would have dared interrupt him while he had company.

With a jaunty and badly executed salute, Tony smiled at him. “Be good, Mufasa. Call me for stolen Hydra toy delivery – or regular whistleblowing.”

Victor nodded. When the man left and shut the door behind him, he fell back onto the bed with a grunt. For maybe a solid hour, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling of the cabin long after the sounds of Tony’s boots, and then his jet taking off, had faded.

He growled when the soft knock he knew would come rapped on the door.

“What, Zane?”

The pilot spoke through the door. “That window of opportunity you wanted to aim at started fifteen minutes ago. Are we keeping to the original itinerary?”

“Why not. Ya need me fer jack?”

“No, if you want to just relax.”

“Stayin’ put, then.”

“You got it, Boss.”

Victor rolled to his stomach and crushed a pillow in his arms to bury his face in it. He could still feel Tony’s touch, feel him deep inside his body. The pillow where the man’s head had lain still held his scent. He closed his eyes, but sleep eluded him.

~ ~ ~

Parking the Ugly Pumpkin in its usual spot, he unhooked the sled himself and hauled it off to the side as Perrin watched him with the wendigo pelt coat folded over his arm. Staring down at the crate lashed onto the sled, Victor reached out to touch it.

“When was she here last?”

“Two weeks.”

Victor sighed. “In tha study, an’ I wanna be alone, ‘cept fer ‘im.”

~ ~ ~

Knowing he was still nervous about picking the baby up from the cradle, Perrin brought his son to him, wrapped in a warm white blanket.

His study in the Yukon safe house was quiet with the others downstairs, and the infant was fed, clean, and sleepy. As always, he smelled like Tabitha as much as he did any of his other caretakers. The girl had taken ‘visit anytime’ literally. The house held her scent too, but at least they never let her into the master suite.

“Silas…” he whispered.

The child stared up at him as he woke, and those eyes were still blue. When he purred at the boy, he got a smile. Settling on the couch, he began to talk softly about anything and nothing: forests he’d hunted, the sound of gulls flying inland as a storm engulfed the sea, or how a desert looked at midnight when the stars were so bright that he could see for miles. Most of the tales had blood in them somewhere, his or others’, but he skipped all of that.

“Good thing ya got tha rest o’ ‘em t’ learn from though, huh? Don’t wanna end up talkin’ like yer pa – folks are always lookin’ at me funny fer how I talk … an’ look. Most stuff ya probly wanna do diff’rent from me, an’ if ya gotta be a mutant, take after yer ma. But if ya get stuck bein’ like me, I’m gonna be here t’ help ya through it, help ya understand what’s happenin’ t’ ya.”

He couldn’t repress a shudder as brutal memories rose in his thoughts, but there was no one to see it, and the impossibly small baby didn’t judge.

“Not a soul is gonna hurt ya an’ whatever it does t’ ya, yer gonna be free t’ be what ya are. My pa wasn’t like that, but ya don’t gotta worry – I’m gonna be a better man. Still learnin’ how t’ be one, but if ya don’t grow too fast, maybe I can figure it out by then. Deal?”

His son blinked at him and yawned, and then those eyes, as beautiful blue as Tabitha’s, closed.

~ ~ ~

“Can you stay another week?” Brys asked from the foot of the stairs. “Tabitha is coming out again, and I know she would love to see you.”

Victor paused on the stairs. “Did ya tell ‘er I’m here?”

“No, you didn’t want me to. She doesn’t try to ‘catch you’, but she … misses you. She told me that herself on the phone this morning.”

“Gotta get ready fer tha busy season – seems most folks wanna whack somebody durin’ tha holiday months. What’s up with that?”

Brys sighed below him as he continued up to the master suite. “They probably hope it might give them a more peaceful Thanksgiving – if they’re paying you to kill relatives.”

Victor chuckled. “Maybe so. Gonna do somethin’ fun fer Halloween fer once, though. Mix a li’l biz with a li’l pleasure.”

“Perrin gave you that flyer with the usual job report, I suppose?”

“‘Course he did – part o’ ‘is job, ain’t it?”

“So you’re going out to California – to see him? Perhaps you could save Tabitha the trip and visit her there in Malibu, while you’re out there.”

“Tabs visits here t’ see Silas, not me. She coulda had me, remember? Coulda had tha whole fuckin’ kingdom. Drop it, Brys.”

In the master suite, he passed the fireplace without looking at the mantel. He was getting better at that. The job report was still spread over the table. Perrin had marked two sections in yellow highlighter. Glancing at the colorful flyer beside the papers again, he read the top line: West Hollywood welcomes Tony Stark this Halloween – as the King of the Carnaval!

 _Odds are, Girl Friday Potts made ‘im say yes t’ that._ Going to the nightstand by the bed, he fetched his phone. _Time t’ see if he wants ‘is Hydra toy yet – long as I’m headin’ that way._

He sat on the bed, leaning against the thick pillows piled at the headboard. A tendril of nervous doubt curled in his stomach as he hit the speed dial for the inventor and set the phone to his ear. It was joined by a craving to hear that bright voice as the phone rang.

_Should I mention tha trip or just ask if he wants tha device?_

The phone continued to ring.

*****************************************************************

The workshop was never entirely quiet, and often had rock and roll or metal blaring. Today, the air was filled with old jazz music; it was probably a good thing that the robots couldn’t be confused over the change. JARVIS had declined to comment on it as they worked on the latest project.

“I put it on the desk, hang on.”

Snorting in annoyance at the Halloween Carnaval packet Pepper had left for him, he reached for the electric drill. Spotting something he’d put next to a pile of fan mail when he came home, he paused and picked it up instead.

“Sir, you asked me to keep distractions to a minimum – the new suit has to be ready for the event.”

“Yeah, be right there…”

He sank into his chair and turned the curved object over in his fingers. One end, the root of the tooth, was mostly smooth and blunt. It was a darker ivory color. At the line where it changed to white, it was short, jagged, and dangerously sharp. The hole that had been bored into the ivory side, a good half-inch below the line, was clean and perfect – as if punched out with a diamond-tipped drill bit.

Tony glanced up at the work table where weirdly archaic-looking brand new pieces of armor needed the electric drill.

_I’m damn lucky to be here – again. This time … it’s because of Victor._

Memories of insane pleasure spiced by fear and danger in a tent on a frozen ocean clouded his thoughts. The last time, in the small sleeping cabin of a huge cargo plane, he had tamed his demon – but had been left with a craving he couldn’t seem to drink away.

He’d kept to himself since, but a Halloween street party could be a good way to break that streak. Pepper had even tried to lure him with the carnal possibilities, without exactly saying so – a new record in dancing around a subject.

_Funny though: if that is the goal, why am I making a new suit for a costume? Easier to slip in and out of a tuxedo, isn’t it?_

Closing his eyes, he only had to think about how it had felt to feel it again – the utter madness of allowing those teeth anywhere near his body, and the heart-hammering thrill of being taken into that heat and sucked until he couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe.

His body responded, but he ignored it. The good memories were tainted by some of the things the mutant had done, and there was fear there, too – in Chicago. It wouldn’t stay buried for long. The prick of the knife point that had been a claw, the moment when his urgent need for pleasure had been twisted into terror – violated by a stranger with a weapon, both monster and man.

Insomnia and nightmares had set in again, here and there. Sometimes he stumbled through a rambling urban jungle strune with corpses, only to allow the killer to go to his knees and pleasure him. At times, the mouth full of sharp teeth would open to accept him, but they were covered with dripping blood.

 _Wow. Okay._ He shook his head. _Too many King and Craven films for background noise when you work past midnight. Victor was more than that, and you know it. He was … confusing, but he could also be … kind. Gruff, blunt, and backward, but … funny, and fun. My God, what a gifted freak of nature in bed._ Picturing the claws, he sighed. _And as Pepper likes to remind you – a killer, a rapist..._ A sharp pain stung the pad of his index finger. “Ow!”

One of the jagged broken points of the tooth had cut him. He stared at the blood welling up for a moment before sticking the finger in his mouth until it stopped bleeding.

When the phone rang, he looked up at it and then twitched at the sight of the contact photo.

The face from the nightmare was there, the tent they’d been in blurry around the frown. Amber cat eyes with black pupils that had turned to slits against the blue reactor light glared at him from the screen. The blue light gleamed up the curved thick shaft of a lethal serrated fang. The point of it, needle thin but strong as an iron bar, rose up beside the man’s nose.

Bits of data flew through his mind as if scattered by a frozen wind. _Internationally wanted killer, terrorist, wet works spy, feral animal, one of the deadliest mutants alive. Alpha predator. Necrophiliac. Cannibal._

Tony reached up with his other hand and touched the bite wounds that were healing into scars.

“I can’t afford to forget that…” he whispered.

Dropping the tooth onto the desk, he rose from the chair, staring at the ringing phone. A flood of memories and sensations went through him, leaving him bewildered.

“I can’t … I need time. I can’t.”

He picked up the drill like a weapon and backed away from that amber glare on the ringing phone.

Why he was going to the street party in armor wasn’t such a mystery after all. It was a public event, and he was the guest of honor – without a doubt, his stalker would be there.

“JARVIS, put on some metal for me. Start with Megadeth: _Peace Sells_. Loud.”

Long before the noise levels in the workshop drowned it out, the phone had stopped ringing.

*****************************************************************

LAX, the fancy West Hollywood hotel, and the insane crowds on Santa Monica Boulevard were all a blur. Eagerness, worry, and a brooding frustration drove him through it all in a rush to get to the moment when he could scent Stark again.

Yet once he was swallowed up by the human sea, he began to slow down and pay attention. He’d never given this event a chance before and perhaps he’d have to start when he was in a better mood – the crowd was rumored to be well over 400,000 and the vibe was enough like Rio’s Carnival to be worth it. Also, there was his quarry to watch out for – undetected thus far, but he couldn’t afford to miss his chance.

As the sun had set, every sort of human and many mutants had moved around him, most of them dressed in Halloween costumes. Several that passed were elaborate enough to catch his notice and some of them had smiled and complimented his costume, too.

Victor snorted. They probably thought he was wearing contacts, latex ears, and plastic fangs.

At his back was a long black cloak with a deep hood, the front panel pinned back at the shoulder. He’d left the thick braid beneath it, with more loose and braided or beaded locks down around his face, even though they were annoying him.

Black leather pants and his heavy boots and belt turned it into a BDSM Village People vibe, so he’d gone with it and didn’t bother to grab a shirt. One nipple was now pierced – pure impulse because the piercer had looked downright toothsome. She had hung a real razor blade on the ring. When the masses pushed close, it would move and turn, sometimes cutting his flesh – a delicious way to maintain an edge.

What appeared to be a black scarf circling his throat would soon be hiding the fangs. Far more dramatic than his usual working clothes and bordering on fetish levels of silly, it was none-the-less amusing and would be lethally effective.

The parade was nothing like the massive event in Rio, they didn’t have that kind of room here, but it didn’t suck to stand off to the side with his purloined bottle of Johnny Walker and watch the crazy outfits go by. Enough of the participants were barely dressed to keep it interesting, and the near-assault on his heightened senses was a welcome distraction.

Slowly but surely, he made his way to the main stage where they were supposed to crown their king. He kept to the shadows at the side to avoid being spotted by a casual scan.

 _Hafta be quick – tha bastard’s fast. No idea what kinda tech he’s gonna bring, neither._ Victor growled low in impatience. _Where tha fuck are ya, ya arrogant ass?_

The crowd noise and the hosts had been loud for a bit, but then it became a din as the King of the Carnaval was announced – and he had actually showed, on time.

“Will wonders never cease,” Victor muttered. He couldn’t see the man yet, but he could smell him – encased in metal. “Fuck, he’s in a bloody suit.”

Bringing the hood up, he let it hang just above his eyes to cut the subtle glow. Unpinning the front of the cloak and pulling the scarf mask up left him perfectly concealed.

_Can’t be helped, but might not be so bad – that’s a shit-ton o’ funky folded steel, could slow ‘im down some._

Almost half a million people screaming pinned his ears back under the hood, but he couldn’t help looking up with them at the raised stage when Tony Stark appeared. The sight of him took his breath away – standing there in the most insane steampunk battle armor anyone had ever seen.

It was still red, if a darker matte blood red with no polished hot rod shine, and the usual gold looked like bronze, all of it locked down by large Victorian-style bronze rivets. Gears, pipes, and vents were dotted around it in ways that could have been decoration but were probably functional. He couldn’t have guessed what the bronze bulky mechanism at the back was, that sported more pipes. Black hoses went from that to the helmet. A lot of it was pumping out actual steam in regular jets as he moved.

The repulsors and round faceplate eye lenses were a ghastly antique and glowing seafoam green. Encased behind colored glass like some relic from the Victorian era, the arc reactor gleamed, the same shade as the eyes.

As Stark reached center stage and struck a pose, the suit made clanking and whirring sounds before blowing more steam. The crowd went mad, worshipping the man inside the beastly thing.

Regardless of what it was supposed to look like, every plate of it was folded steel, constructed eerily similar to how the oldest katanas Victor had ever seen had been made. They even had a visible O-Mokume hada – a circular grain in the metal, similar to a leopard’s spots. The suit likely weighed north of 500 pounds, with the 165 pound man inside.

Impressed in spite of himself, Victor sighed. _Bet it still flies – an’ has a bitch o’ an artillery cache. Don’t matter, gotta job t’ do – get t’ it._ He found a better position and pulled his weapon from the holster at the back of his pants, holding it at his hip. _Gonna be ‘game on’ once that faceplate pops up. Kiss kiss bang bang, hero._

To call the weapon a gun would have been an insult – it was a wooden blunderbuss from the early 1700s with a brass barrel, decorated with brass dragons on the wood. Made for punching holes with its .69 caliber round, and currently loaded with a ping-pong size lead ball, it was going to once again earn its other nickname: dragon. Smaller than a rifle at 30.5 inches overall, the barrel 15 inches, it had been easy to conceal.

Perrin had pointed out that most modern humans would take one look at it and assume it was a toy for a costume – at least until he aimed it at their hero’s head.

_Only gonna get tha chance fer one shot, an’ no time t’ reload this bitch, so better make it count._

His ears were pricked up and slightly out, sifting through the din to catch the sound he needed to hear.

As the host turned to hold the microphone up to Stark, Victor raised the blunderbuss in the same moment that the faceplate started to rise.

A few people nearby saw him and screamed, but Victor ignored them. The game was on. Seconds before he saw Stark’s face fully, he fired the lead ball right at it. In the next half-second, it hit its intended target – a metal scarab bomb. His shot struck it out of its trajectory and it hit the far edge of the stage, its steel grappling hook legs tangling in the structure like it would have done to the edges of Stark’s helmet. The blast destroyed that corner of the stage and the whole thing tilted.

To a chorus of screams and a frighteningly familiar mechanical whine, Victor jumped into the crowd as a repulsor shot blasted the street where he’d been standing. His back itched with a buzzing feral warning, but he ignored it to leap after his prey.

Swinging his arm, he managed to strike a ringing blow to the other assassin’s head with the blunderbuss before he dropped the weapon to jump and lope after him.

A breath later, he roared in pain when he was struck by a repulsor blast. It hit his shoulder and disintegrated the flesh down to his metal bones, leaving the edges of the grevious wound ragged and burned.

Growling, he let the shredded and burning cloak and scarf float away, but by the time he moved to hit all-fours, the shoulder was already healed. Hoping he wouldn’t hear that infernal armor flying at him, he chased the scent of the person who had been paid to kill Stark. He couldn’t outrun Victor, and he could track the bastard wherever he went.

The moment he had line of sight on the prey, he began to drive the man where he wanted him to go and grinned with delight when he slid around a corner and dashed into a closed restaurant, using a smaller disc bomb to shatter the door.

Dodging with impressive agility and speed, the small figure in black desert clothing was still merely a human – no match for a feral mutant. Victor gave him nowhere else to go and a choice of being pinned to a steel door or to open it – and retreat inside the large walk-in freezer. He chose, and was soon cornered against the frozen back wall.

Advancing to crouch in the wide doorway, Victor snarled. “Hiya, Achim – long time no see.”

“Creed – why are you interfering? Stark must die!”

“Yeah, ‘bout that … I’m gonna say no.” The claws gleamed under the security lights in the industrial kitchen behind him as he lifted them to strike.

“Don’t be a fool, his death is worth millions. You should be working with me.”

Victor glared at the small man in black. He looked like he had escaped from the set of _Lawrence of Arabia_. Many weapons and even another scarab bomb hung from his belt, but he already knew they wouldn’t save him.

“Sharin’ a payday ain’t yer style, boy, never was – yer shit don’t stink, as I recall. Shall we put that t’ tha test? By tha by, ya really oughta stay outta Omar Sharif’s closet. I guess dressin’ like King Tut limits yer stealth, though.”

“I cannot lower myself to work with lesser men, but you are the mighty Sabretooth – we can make an alliance.”

Smirking, Victor sat back on his haunches, poised on the balls of his feet. He rested one wrist on a thigh and set the other hand on the ground between his legs. “I’m listenin’, but agreein’ is gonna depend on who’s holdin’ tha purse strings. Who ya workin’ fer, ‘Osiris’?”

“A great man – a powerful man –”

“Cut tha bullshit posturin’ an’ gimme a name. Now.”

“He is called the Fixer: Ebersol.”

“Paul Norbert Ebersol, huh? Criminal genius inventor type. Golly, I can’t even guess why he’d want Stark dead.” Victor grinned at him, showing all of the teeth.

“We can kill Stark together, and then I’ll take you to the Fixer.”

“Take me where? Where’s tha Dayton, Ohio native an’ former auto mechanic hangin’ ‘is hat these days? I gotta schedule t’ keep – can’t just go gallivantin’ all over.”

“Moscow.”

“Figures.”

“The Fixer would highly value hiring an asset like you.”

Victor dug his claw into the concrete floor of the freezer. The small Egyptian assassin was shuddering in the cold but trying to keep his game face on. Micro expressions and scent on that face and slender body told him a different story, however.

 _This insect is too arrogant by half t’ share ‘is glory kill, let alone ‘is payday, with any-fuckin’-body. Not that it matters – just shoppin’ fer intel. Never know what’s gonna come in handy down tha road. This fucker, though … duty calls._ “Made up my mind, Achim. I figure it’s time t’ thin tha herd o’ my competition a tad.”

“Creed, wait!”

“Oh an’ here’s a freebie, just so’s ya know – Ebersol might could hope t’ hire me all he wants, but that asswipe works fer tha likes o’ Hydra.”

“Wait – he is the head of the Hydra Science Division!”

“Do tell. Had no idea he’d got up tha ladder that far.” The mere thought of it made his mouth water as saliva began to drip from his lower fangs.

“Hydra is different now, we have tendrils and power bases in places you could not imagine. Your hatred is old. Embrace the power they can offer you. A being like you – there would be no limit.”

“Ya went an’ said tha magic word, do ya know that? Ya said ‘we’.” A growl sparked.

“No, stop! I can get you in, I can help you kill Ebersol – let me work with you!”

“No dice.” With a snarl, he dropped his jaw and launched at the man.

The noise was intense in the close space, surrounded by a steel box. Claws rended and fangs bit, though he avoided the bombs on the belt. He almost felt drugged by the stench of bile and spilled guts, and the salty alluring smell of splattered blood.

When the mangled corpse was still, he gleefully cut into it, shearing through ribs to get the liver. Lifting the rich organ to his mouth, he had half of it sheered and swallowed when the sound of the door moving nearly choked him.

For a heartbeat as he whirled, he saw the still figure of Iron Man engulfed in white steam watching him with that baleful green gaze before the door slammed and a repulsor blast sealed it shut.

“Stark!” Victor called out.

Snarling, he swallowed the rest of the meat, wiping his face with his forearm. The scent of his own fear crept over him at the excruciating memory of the blast that had vaporized his shoulder. Without the Adamantium, he would have lost an arm. The hunger lashed through his body, demanding more meat to strengthen his healing ability, but he couldn’t feed it now – he had to get out.

Instinct could barely be controlled as the need to hurl himself at the door was pushed down by force.

He approached it slow, leaning against it to listen. Iron Man was still out there. Taking a deep breath, he tried to shed the killing urge that still burned in his veins as he was surrounded by the smell of his dead prey.

“Tony,” he tried again, but faltered. _He saw it, can_ _’t change that now – an’ he already knew it._ Both hands lifted to touch the frost-covered door. “Ya ain’t gotta clue what’s goin’ on.”

The voice that answered was the mechanized tone of the suit. “You mean your attempt to kill me? Hunting down and killing, and … eating … some guy who just wanted to come out for a party?”

Victor growled. “Listen t’ me, ‘is name’s Achim – codename Osiris, he’s an assassin an’ he told me he works fer Hydra. He was hired t’ kill ya, not me. I got wind o’ it an’ came t’ stop ‘im but couldn’t find ‘im in tha crowd before ya showed up an’ flushed ‘im out.”

“Sounds like a great story – or a really good lie.”

“That toy that blew is a scarab bomb – probly invented by a Hydra douchebag called tha Fixer – there’s ‘nother one in here on ‘is belt. Fuckin’ things are too fast, an’ Achim too damn good at hidin’ in plain sight. I had t’ wait ‘til he made a move on ya t’ find ‘im. I was ready when he did. Tha bomb hit tha stage cuz I shot tha thing outta tha air before it could grab yer fuckin’ face an’ blow yer head off.”

“Why not just give me a head’s up that this person was coming after me?”

Victor slumped with his chest against the door, pressing his forehead into the frost. “Can’t warn ya if ya won’t answer yer phone…”

“How do I know this isn’t some set up and that guy is wearing a Halloween costume?”

“Ask yer damn robot – Osiris, scarab bomb, assassin from Egypt … look it up.”

“Maybe I should just keep you in there while I do that.”

“Yer not keepin’ me in here, Tony – a steel icebox ain’t gonna hold me.”

“Assassin or not, you can’t just … eat people. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that cannibalism is one of the biggest taboos of nearly any society?”

Victor growled, but his heart wasn’t in it. The place was getting to him. It was small, cold, hard, full of plants and roots he couldn’t eat, and locked – sealed – shut. An angry male who wanted him to not be what he was, what he couldn’t not be, waited outside to pass judgment. If he stayed much longer, he’d be a danger to Tony and himself.

Reasoning with him was useless. They only ever saw what they already believed. Anger thrummed, soon to transform into rage. The beast within felt trapped...

“I ain’t a damn flatscan, so it ain’t ‘cannibalism’ t’ me! Fuck society!”

“I’m not a … flatscan … whatever the hell that means – I’m a human, which you like to eat.”

“Yer not dinner, neither.”

A click sounded and Tony’s real voice spoke. “That’s a double negative, and actually means the opposite, you realize.”

With a grimace, the growl crept back into his throat. “Ya like t’ read ‘bout crimes I been accused o’, but did ya never read ‘bout what I am? I’m more beast than man. I hunt, I kill prey – an’ humans are below me on tha food chain, so why not eat ‘em? Been in plenty o’ tight spots where all there was t’ eat was ‘people’. Why are they sacred or diff’rent than any other prey?”

“We are not going to have a discussion where you try to justify eating people’s livers.”

Hearing that voice through a door abruptly reminded him of Chicago, though he’d been listening to Tony’s pleasure then. Afterward, he had placed his hand on the wood over where Tony had. With nothing but a door in between that almost touch, he had heard the arc reactor for the first time, threaded through that wounded heartbeat.

_Shoulda left it there, maybe. Reachin’ too far, tryin’ too hard – nothin’ good ever comes o’ that. Wantin’ this man – foolishness. He’s outta my league, an’ sees nothin’ but a monster – even after all we did t’gether._

The metal door vibrated gently with a dull clang – Stark had set his palm on it. Victor’s hand slid to rest where his was, the claws shaving the frost into powder that fell on his boot.

“What can I do?” the man asked.

Victor’s heart thumped hopefully for a moment or two before a soft growl thrummed in his chest.

 _This is smoke, like ya always knew it was..._ “Nothin’ ya can do, flyboy.”

He stood straight and took a step back from the door, watching his breath fog as he spoke.

“Tell yer robot t’ look up Osiris; he’s been a hired killer fer five years now. Told me who hired ‘im, so I’m gonna turn that asswipe int’ a corpse, too. He ain’t tha first moron who’s paid somebody t’ kill ya, an’ he probly won’t be tha last. If I get wind o’ ‘em, they get dead.”

“Victor … I should – turn you over to SHIELD.”

“Ya sure ya wanna do that? They can’t hold me neither an’ they can’t kill me.”

“You won’t be killed – but this needs to stop.”

“T’ get loose o’ ‘em an’ go my way, I’d kill every damn soul ya send after me. It’s just my nature. If’n ya can’t understand that, go ahead an’ call ‘em in, but be sure – ya want that blood on yer hands?”

“Victor, please… Don’t do this.”

“I’m goin’ now – did what I came here t’ do. Keep yer head, huh? Lotsa folks seem mighty eager t’ remove it.” He turned his back to the door and looked down at the prey. “I’ll leave ya this, so ya can piece it t’gether fer yerself – if ya care. Don’t matter none t’ me.”

He stepped beside the body and slashed at the back wall. The material over the steel parted like clotted cream as the steel beneath it was cut like paper. Another strike beside it and one over both cuts, and then his boot kicked out, slamming the large section of the steel box into scrap on the ground outside.

Victor hit all-fours and reached his top speed in a few seconds. He couldn’t run faster than Iron Man could fly, but he could go places the Tin Man could not.

He had run for a while before he realized Stark wasn’t hunting him. He slowed and warily doubled back to reach his hotel. One call for a car later, he became a needle in the Los Angeles traffic haystack, invisible and as good as gone.

On his jet, he didn’t look back at the crate lashed behind the last row of seats in the cabin. He stripped off his belt and tossed it and the holster and pouches for the lost blunderbuss onto the floor.

Slumping low into his favorite seat by a window, he stared listlessly out at the nighttime world illuminated by his feral sight. There were people there, trucks, carts, a fuel truck … he saw through them all – seeing nothing.

His pilot had the good sense to avoid talking to him or asking any questions. The itinerary was already set.

When the jet finally began to take off, Victor toyed with the little metal razor blade that still dangled from the ring piercing his nipple. Holding it more firmly, he sank it into the flesh of his chest and watched the blood drip through the fur until the skin healed around the blade. Pulling it free, he pinched the ring in his fingertips and yanked it out through the nipple with a snarl. A few more drops of blood fell onto the tight black leather stretched over his thigh. For one exquisite second, the pain was good – and then that wound healed, too.

 _Useless._ He dropped it into the holster. _Claws are better, but if I start – might not stop._

Leaning his head back against the seat, he closed his eyes and tried not to think about Tony – his touch, his scent, his taste… The sound of the man’s bright laughter rang in his memory, before it faded into silence within the thrumming noise of the jet.

 _Gonna hear that awful mechanical whine in my nightmares._ He lifted a hand to rub the shoulder Tony had destroyed. _All my scars are on tha inside, like Blue Öyster Cult preached it – ‘cept fer tha ones that ain’t._

One stop had been added to the itinerary, via phone from the hotel room in West Hollywood: Moscow.

_Tha Fixer – head o’ tha Hydra Science Division. Time t’ be tha monster again…_

*****************************************************************

The police had the scene well in hand when Tony returned from the restaurant, and he was amazed no one had been killed when the bomb collapsed the side of the stage. Several had been injured, but nothing serious.

When he inspected the damage with the authorities, he could see that the bomb had been diverted partially underneath the stage by Victor’s gunshot. The structure had not only taken the brunt of the damage, its quick collapse had shielded a lot of people. He whistled at the amount of jagged metal that was sticking in the underside of the thick rubber fixed to the top of the stage.

They had recovered the lead ball in the wreckage, but only a few witnesses had seen what he had: the tall figure wrapped in black aiming what looked like a pirate toy gun at him. The police hadn’t found the weapon.

Tony told them about the dead man in the walk-in freezer of the Pondicheri Café. JARVIS had already confirmed Victor’s claim of the man’s identity and profession – a rather obvious fact after he had spotted the second scarab bomb.

_What a mess. I’m still not sure how to handle him. I guess I could try calling, but he won’t trust me after I threatened him with SHIELD._

“Sir, I have located the firearm Creed used – a young man is attempting to smuggle it out of the area.”

“Awesome, thanks,” he told the AI. Turning to one of the officers, he asked, “Are we sorted here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hey, look – the people who got hurt ... I’m going to pick up those hospital bills. I’ll have my assistant call your chief, if you’ll pass that on.”

“I will. Thank you for your help, Mr. Stark. You nearly got that ugly freak – that mutie was fast as hell.”

Tony gritted his teeth as he nodded and smiled, relieved when he could drop the faceplate down.

“I gave Officer Stanic my statement – the shooter may be a person of interest, but the bomber was the dead guy – killed by the shooter. Since the bomb was aimed at my head, I’m inclined to cut the shooter a little slack. If any of you have further questions for me, call my assistant. Stanic has her number.”

He took off over their heads and let JARVIS show him the young man. Another display brought up stats on the weapon he carried.

Tony whistled. “And they say I have all the toys. That is a damn blunderbuss. Where did he find that, at Black Beard’s rummage sale? Proof of the effectiveness of low tech. It’s really that old, isn’t it? Not a replica?”

“It appears to be a legimate antique in very good condition, sir.”

The teen clearly had a built-in stealth mode, but he was no match for Iron Man. Landing in front of him certainly got his attention. “That’s crime scene evidence.”

Covering his shock fast, the teen took up a defiant stance. He looked like seventeen going on forty as he curled his lip in a sneer. “Finder’s keepers.”

Tony popped the faceplate up and sighed. “Okay, let’s make this an easy choice – I’ll buy it, $5,000. Or, I pick you up and turn you in for taking it from a crime scene.”

“Got yourself a sale, dude. Hey, can I take a picture with you?”

~ ~ ~

 _War of the Worlds_ soldiered on without him on the display as he sat in his ‘32 Ford Flathead Roadster in a decent recreation of a drive-in movie night. The workshop around him was quiet beyond the audio of the film.

Behind him on his desk sat Victor’s weapon. The blunderbuss was an impressive and dangerous piece of history, not unlike Victor himself.

The broken tooth wasn’t on the desk with it. He had hung it from the corner of the roadster’s windshield – still strung on the wire that had been used to yank it out.

Tony leaned his head back and sighed, staring at one of the oddest souvenirs he’d ever uncharacteristically dragged home with him.

_My first mini vacation since I got home, so many projects that need to be worked on, no idea when I’ll need to suit up at any time, and what am I doing? Obsessing over the furry behemoth assassin that got away._

Pulling out his phone, he looked at the photo he had taken of the glaring mutant.

_The flash popped in his face, and he didn’t know I was going to take a picture. That’s why he was glaring. Take away the barbarism and the near-disturbing size of the man, and he’s ... actually handsome. He’s also a delicious creature to be in bed with, and he just killed to save my life – again._

He twitched when the phone rang in his hand, torn between wanting it to be Victor and dreading it at once.

The photo and name that popped on the screen was definitely not the blonde feral mutant. It was a young and slender Brazilian beauty he’d met at a charity event in Los Angeles. Somewhere between the before dinner drinks and the after dinner cocktails, he’d given the up-and-coming model his number – since neither of them had time to hook up right then.

He let it go to voicemail just to gather his thoughts. “Pause the movie, JARVIS. Show me Cristiano Torres, modeling photos, nudes if there are any.”

Aliens and panicking people were replaced by the latest good-luck charm of sunny Brazil, in a succession of jeans with no shirt, designer underwear, and a few birthday suits. He was barely twenty-one. Dark eyes stared in a calculated way that was intended to be soulful and alluring. The eyes were also human, the smile white and even without a single sharp fang in sight.

_Going by the party chatter, he’s not as smart as he is beautiful, so there’d be nothing to talk about – perfect._

Putting on a smile to match him, he opened up the phone to access the keyboard and called the pretty twink back.

“Hi. Feel like hitting the slopes?”

The model’s voice was warm and light, like dripping caramel. It was a shame he couldn’t have a video-enabled good time right now, but his was the only phone capable of that. Tony smirked at a question about where they could go. Cristiano was too new to the you-made-it game not to worry about how to afford things yet.

 _Ah, so young. Like ‘where’ matters._ “Spin the globe and point. We can take my jet.”

When he finished with the call, he sat there in silence in the car staring up at the tanned distraction. He couldn’t muster any real care about the date he’d made. He was on autopilot and he knew it. The longer he sat there alone, the more the old uneasy feeling crept in – he wasn’t like other people. He would end up bored once the immediate physical need was sated, until an excuse to fly off and play hero or tinkering in the workshop became the only thing he cared about at all.

 _Victor wasn’t boring, in bed or out – not even close._ “Find me photos of Victor Creed – anything from anyone that isn’t some gory crime scene thing or INTERPOL file.”

He sat up straight on the red leather seat when the photos dotted across the display, shocked to see that so many were from the tech conference in Chicago – Victor in designer suits, in the same rooms he had been in. Pushing aside the creepy stalker factor, he pointed.

“That one, in the black Versace double-breasted suit, leaning on the column – zoom in on that.”

Victor was holding a highball glass, just like the one the mystery admirer had sent to him – the expensive Glenfiddich. The photo had to be one snapped by the many media people who had been pointing cameras at them all.

He knew that had to be just before he’d gone upstairs with the twink who had ended up eviscerated and dropped onto a glass and metal awning over the hotel doors – murdered on the roof and thrown from it. His stomach twisted and lurched.

 _Tucker was going to post nudes of me – like that’s never happened before. Did Victor think he was saving me from him, or was it some sick territorial stalker thing? So much for the idea that his hobby is killing people who are trying to kill me._ “Patio in the sun, that was breakfast. Zoom.”

The NoMI restaurant at the conference hotel, and Victor was in a Monty Python t-shirt under a massive black overcoat, talking to a waitress. The waitress was the person who had handed Pepper the gift bag from Victor, the gift: Sam Tucker’s phone.

About to move on, he got fixated on staring at the photo of Victor in the t-shirt. The barrel chest, the fangs, the way he filled a pair of jeans like no man that deadly had a right to.

Tony’s hand gripped his phone tighter as the desire to hear Victor’s low purring voice filled his head. The awful grammar and knuckle-dragger accent could even be charming when his dick was hardening. Staring at the thick neck, one hand slipped down to rest over the erection.

 _His throat has more muscles than other people have in their whole torso._ He rubbed at his dick in the jeans once before shaking his head. “That other one, JARVIS – in the Aston Martin V12 Vanquish. Damn…”

The nutty level of bling displayed in the gold and yellow diamonds of Victor’s Luxuriator sunglasses made Tony smile despite himself. The mutant was … stunning. Raw power, the feral beast barely contained by the trappings of a wealthy civilized person. This was a side of Victor he’d never seen.

“Who is that he’s arriving with? The guy who’s smoothing things over with the cops?” The photo was zoomed in and moved slightly. “Holy shit. That is … me. JARVIS, tell me that’s not me – I did not ride in a Bond car with Victor.”

“You were already traveling back home when this photo was taken, sir.”

“Then who the hell is that?”

“Unknown, sir. Do you want me to try the hotel’s security footage for that day and time?”

“Hell, yes.”

The footage came up a moment later, showing Victor at the valet parking podium before he entered the hotel lobby with … himself. They stopped at the desk and the weird imposter did all of the talking as the woman handed him a card key. When they entered the elevator, the clip ended.

“No information on the imposter’s identity is coming up, sir. I will keep looking.”

Tony’s gaze flicked back to the tooth. Before he knew he meant to do it, he grabbed the wire from the windshield and threw the thing across the room. It hit a tire and skated under the black Maserati.

Victor’s words hung in his memory: _‘Jacked it t’ tha fantasy version more’n once, so yeah – I’m fer findin’ out how reality stacks up.’_

He covered his eyes with a hand and took a few deep breaths.

 _What the hell is going on…? I have to drop this. I need to stop thinking about him. I need … to do … something._ “Get that for me, Dum-E? And don’t scratch the paint. That’s a ‘63 Maserati 3500 GT Vignale Spyder, so we show it respect.”

As the robot rolled over there, Tony got out of the roadster and returned to his desk. Ignoring the blunderbuss, he sat in the chair and stared at the other souvenir he’d disarmed with the rest earlier. It sat there, squatting on six steel talons at the end of telescoping legs. The body was fashioned to look like a scarab beetle, the claws and legs designed to latch onto the target right before it destroyed everything within ten feet of it.

 _Victor said he was going to go kill the man who paid Osiris to assassinate me._ Unbidden, Victor’s low voice haunted him again: _‘He ain’t tha first moron who’s paid somebody t’ kill ya, an’ he probly won’t be tha last. If I get wind o’ ‘em, they get dead.’_ “The way he said that … he knew others had paid to have me killed before. Did they pay him? Is that why he was watching me from a roof through a sniper rifle scope? Why didn’t he take the shot?”

The broken tooth was abruptly tumbled onto the desk. He stared at the jagged path a bullet had made – one of the bullets that could have ended his life.

“Thanks,” Tony muttered, and gave the robot arm a vague pat. Looking back up at the huge display covered with photos of Victor Creed, he whispered, “I need answers.” Pulling out his phone again, he scrolled the screen quickly past Victor’s name in his contacts and onward to the letter O. He stopped at the name Ryu Obinata. _Victor will hear about this. I don’t care; I have to know – more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, polar night isn’t always as dark as I’ve described it in this story, but I’m betting if we were out in the middle of the frozen-over Arctic Ocean miles from any civilization, it would darker out there. Victor can use minor starlight to see by too, of course. Tony would have called for his jet to go to Alert after the sinking of the Hydra base. This is the jet from Iron Man 1 with the stewardess/strippers, which is definitely overkill for a trip like that.
> 
> "We Have All the Time in the World" is a James Bond theme from "On Her Majesty’s Secret Service", sung by Louis “Satchmo” Armstrong. Chicago references have to do with the events from my story "Blood Song", which this is a sequel to. Storyville in New Orleans would certainly be a draw for Victor. Per my timeline, he was there just before he went to London for a while. I dug up Blue Books in my research and thought it would be just like him to decide to work his way through the listings. The nightmare Victor talks about in this chapter has to do with the siblings he doesn’t remember yet, from the "Origins II" comics. “Kiss kiss bang bang” is another James Bond song reference, as well as the title to a movie starring Robert Downey Jr.
> 
> There is very little to dig up on Catalyst outside of the "Sabretooth and Mystique" limited series comics, but in those comics, Victor thinks about the fact that he would bear the physical scars as well as mental ones from that torture, until the day he died. I’m assuming Victor would be rather keen to get revenge on the man who did that to him, even if most evidence seems to support the idea that Catalyst is dead. Victor’s habit of slaughtering Hydra people will come up again in this series. Speaking of which, the Fixer is a Marvel canon minor bad guy who really was the head of the Hydra Science Division at one point. Osiris, however, is an OC assassin I invented, named after an Egyptian god of death. "Lawrence of Arabia" is a classic epic movie starring Peter O’Toole and Omar Sharif.
> 
> Researching the West Hollywood Halloween Carnaval was not easy in the slightest, so I got fed up and invented some aspects of that event. The Pondicheri Café is a real vegan restaurant, but it’s in Houston – fiction is fun. Tony is watching the original 1953 version of "War of the Worlds".
> 
> This chapter had to be split, just as chapter 3 became chapters 3 and 4 after it reached 40 pages. So that means there will be a chapter 7. In the latest last chapter 7, ha ha, there will be a LOT of Beast, a.k.a. Dr. Hank McCoy, trying to help Tony to understand Victor better. I hope it doesn’t end up as solid “info dump”, and I hope I can make it entertaining for y’all with a last (for now) bit of IronTooth smut thrown in. I do feel it is necessary to get Tony from “lock him up” to “give him a chance”, which is going to be explored later in the series. As always, thanks for reading and commenting and I'll fix typos as I find them. Y’all make all the work involved in this worthwhile. -  AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	7. Revelations and Fugue in D Minor

I think scars are beautiful  
I think black is white  
and I’m stuck between the hell I’m in  
and where we lie  
You say that this could kill you  
your words cut like a knife  
and we are the beautiful mistake  
that I, I can’t fight

So I, I don’t care if it kills me tonight  
‘cause I, I’ll be loving these scars for life  
And I, I don’t care if it kills me tonight  
‘cause I, I’ll be loving these scars for life

I think that we are chemical, I think the dark is light  
And I know … each and every wrong you right  
You say that this could kill you  
your words cut like a knife  
and we are the beautiful mistake  
that I, I can’t fight

So I, I don’t care if it kills me tonight  
‘cause I, I’ll be loving these scars for life  
And I, I don’t care if it kills me tonight  
‘cause I, I’ll be loving these scars for life

~ Scars (Alesso feat. Ryan Tedder)

*****************************************************************

Tony had an appointment with Mr. Obinata, and everyone knew he was rich enough to get one, yet he still ended up having to wait in the executive lounge of the exclusive floor that most customers of the Ryu Bank would never see.

Right at the end of the corporate work day was exactly where he would make an appointment for someone he never intended to see. It had been an hour now, his slouch was going to wrinkle his blue pinstripe bespoke suit and navy coat, and he couldn’t shake the idea that the banker was punishing him somehow. How much did he know about his time with Victor?

One shoe tapped against the silver and black state-of-the-art briefcase next to his chair. It was a prototype of a portable suit, not quite ready for curtain call, but better than nothing – just in case. He was hoping the business relationship he’d sort of formed with Obinata and Victor would render it an unnecessary precaution.

“Mr. Stark?” a pretty personal assistant type asked as she walked in.

Tony raised his hand and waved it to make a point. He was the only person in the fancy Art Deco room.

“Mr. Obinata will see you now, sir. Please follow me.”

 _Will, not can,_ he thought.

He got up, grabbed the briefcase, and followed as she talked in a matter-of-fact efficient tone.

“Mr. Obinata does not shake hands, apologies. He has a full schedule this evening, so please be as succinct as you can.”

“I’ll do my best.” She was new and apparently unaware he’d done all of this before. _How many assistants does this guy go through in a year?_

The New York branch of the Ryu Bank at 37 Central Park South was a monstrously tall building that had found an almost arcane balance between modern architecture and Art Deco. It looked quite odd, especially with the elegant Park Lane Hotel next door, but the interiors were calculated to awe – maybe even intimidate.

Tony was more impressed that it was not only one of many, but new branches were opening across the globe at a near alarming rate. So far, he’d seen four of them personally and every one was different with at least one oddly similar condition: an old building bought and renovated, but rarely altered. This one was not the oldest of them, according to JARVIS, but it was the first one Ryu Obinata had acquired to become his original flagship bank.

Obinata himself had to be a mutant; it was the only explanation that fit what the man could do. At least once, Tony knew the small Japanese banker had been in this building and in the time it had taken him to travel to Tokyo, breaking the sound barrier along the way in the suit, Obinata had arrived in that branch before Tony did.

_It’s freakish how smart he is, too – like he has a computer for a brain. I’m not sure the other boardmembers are even real people and that’s maybe only one of many reasons they made me swear not to snoop as a condition of our agreement. Can he really run an organization of this scope alone? More importantly, is he Victor’s business partner, or his boss? Either way, he’s the man who sits on the throne while the lethal feral mutant lurks behind it in secret. I wonder what the real dynamic between them is like._

His guide had reached the huge oak Art Deco double doors with long and curling angular brass handles. As they started to open, he shook his head again over how thick they were and wondered if they hid a steel core.

“Please come in. Mr. Stark to see you, sir,” she announced as she opened both doors and swung them inside the vast office.

Tony didn’t waste time admiring the room. He’d seen it before, and he knew the banker would find any excuse to hurry him off.

 _Succinct, my ass._ “Good evening, Mr. Obinata!” he greeted the man cheerfully as the doors thunked closed behind him.

“Kon’nichiwa, Stark-san. I am afraid I haven’t the time I would like for your visit.” The iron stare was chilling behind those thin metal frame glasses. “How may I be of service?”

Joining him at the long conference table in front of the rows of narrow windows, Tony sat in a chair when he did. The briefcase went under the table within easy reach.

“I came to ask you about Victor Creed. There are things I need to know in order for our agreement to continue, and I hope you’ll help me.”

“That is not a person I am at liberty to spill secrets about. I may have only a few minutes to spare, and truly if you were not you – I wouldn’t have agreed to meet today.”

Tony leaned his forearms on the table and cut to the chase. “The Halloween Carnaval event – why was he there, or was it just to stalk me again?”

“Creed-san went to West Hollywood to assassinate Osiris – but he took the job to protect you.”

“Who ordered the hit on Osiris?”

“I did.”

Startled, he sat up straight again. “Why?”

“He was a dangerous killer.”

“So is Victor.”

“Oh yes, but … Creed-san is so much more.”

“Tell me then, tell me about that. I’ve earned it.”

“Have you? I wonder. Yet that is for him to decide.”

“I’m not leaving until I get some kind of a real answer. He asked me if I ever learned anything about what he is – so ... this is me trying to do that. Be a pal, toss me a bone.”

“Feel free to ask my next appointment, if you wish.”

“Your next –”

The heavy double doors were struck and swung inward fast. One of the handles hit the wall, shattering the strike plate and leaving a dent as Victor Creed stormed in – the proverbial bull in a china shop.

“Why tha fuck didn’t ya tell me when he called, Obinata? Coulda intercepted –” Victor shouted. Belatedly, his eyes locked onto Tony’s and both of them froze.

“I knew you would have dropped everything, and Paris was important. Stark-san was not here this morning, a little white lie on my part. He is here now and you need to settle this.”

The banker rose from the conference table and walked calmly past them to the open doors. His personal assistant reappeared, looking spooked, and helped him grab and begin to close them.

“Don’t ya walk out on me,” Victor threatened, a growl chasing the words. “Coulda told tha bastard t’ fuck off!”

“I am sorry, my friend. You need this. I will see you in Helsinki.”

The doors closed and they were alone. Tony stared at Victor, taking it all in – the rage, the glare, and the growls – and tried to breathe as everything he wanted to say slipped out of his mind.

 _He’s … magnificent._ Claws were curling: long, shiny, and sharp, from his thick long fingers. _There’s the huge black coat from that photo, and it’s bespoke, it has to be._

Victor’s ears were pinned down, the expressive face twisted into a snarl. He wore the same style, jeans and a vintage Black Sabbath t-shirt, with the same big boots. The long hair was braided, but the beads hanging around his face were fancier, and some were carved bone.

“How soon is SHIELD landin’ on tha roof, Stark.”

“They’re not, it’s just me.”

“On my turf, botherin’ my friend – I’m ‘sposed t’ believe that? Came fer information, on how t’ catch me, maybe?”

“Information, yes, but just to learn about you. I know a big part of our agreement for you was that my appointments would be set up in advance and agreed to, but I needed answers, especially after what you said about not knowing you. I need to understand you.”

“Bullshit.”

Tony sucked in a breath. He wanted to hit himself, but he couldn’t help it – he was getting hard and he wanted the frightening feral more than he ever had.

_This is nuts, but being in the same room again, damn – just look at him!_

He took it all in and couldn’t wipe the smirk off of his face as he saw Victor catch the scent, watched him check and hesitate.

Something wild crested in Tony when Victor hissed instead of growing calmer. He didn’t want the mutant to submit or obey – he wanted the beast.

“Do you want to cut me with those claws? Gut me?”

Tony stripped off his coat and turned to toss it on the polished wood table. At his ear, Obinata’s waterfall that ran down one wall was rushing and splashing into the rock garden under it.

As he turned back, he gasped and might have cried out, but Victor was on him. One large fist grabbed the silk tie and squeezed, just shy of throttling him. His mind reeling, he grabbed the thick wrists and tried not to struggle.

Victor’s sniff was chased by a snarl. “Lotta metal an’ tech packed in that briefcase. What tha fuck do ya think yer doin’?”

“I don’t know,” Tony fought to answer. “I have no idea. I just want … you. I need to get you out of my head.”

“Fuckin’ insane, comin’ here like this.”

“If I crossed a line I shouldn’t have, I apologize. We can discuss it after you allow me to breathe a little more?”

He was bent back over the table as he heard Victor’s boot kick the briefcase to the wall on the other side, where it hit with a thud. Breathing was getting more challenging, but the press of Victor’s hard cock against his body through their clothes shattered his thoughts and his caution. At the same moment, he realized something surprising: he didn’t feel afraid. He felt exhilarated. Victor’s eyes narrowed and Tony would bet the next sniff was also figuring that out.

“Oughta gut ya, ya arrogant sonovabitch,” Victor rasped at him, glaring into his eyes. “I created this with ‘im – ya don’t threaten ‘im an’ ya don’t belong here!”

“What … the … hell…” Tony’s mental gears spun. “I didn’t,” he struggled to say as the tie was pulled tighter. “Victor – I can’t … breathe...”

Yanking him up, Victor used his grip on the tie to half-sling him into a stumbling backward retreat. Tony gasped for air, fingers working at the tightened knot as he continued to back up. He couldn’t get it loosened to remove it, so he pulled at it to make the loop wider.

Victor’s advance was frightening, and fear finally slipped into his blood. _This must be what it’s like for the people he kills…_ The accusation stunned him. _I didn’t threaten Obinata – did he tell Victor I did? Is he trying to get me murdered?_

The sickening memory of watching the mutant eat the other assassin’s organ twisted in his stomach as the horror of being eaten clouded and blunted his mind.

Tony stumbled again and almost slipped on wet rocks. The moment that he was hit by falling water, his back struck the rock wall. He spluttered a moment before he realized he could hold his head out of it as the water crashed over his neck and shoulders, soaking him in an instant. Victor pulled off his coat, threw it on the floor, and stalked right after him onto the rocks and into the splash and spray.

“I don’t know what he told you,” Tony said, already starting to shudder in the cold water, “but I didn’t threaten him. I didn’t even talk to him until I got into this office, he wouldn’t take the call. I was pawned off on the assistant, and told he wouldn’t see me. I pushed.”

The mutant advanced until the hands Tony held out to ward him off were pressed against the barrel chest. One of the clawed hands landed on the rock wall, the claws piercing it. The other gripped the knot of the tie, holding it like a threat without twisting it tight again.

“I was told to come in but warned he didn’t have much time to give me. He said he wouldn’t talk about you, all he said was he ordered the hit on Osiris, and you took the job to protect me. He told me I should ask his next appointment about you, and I guess … that’s you.” Tony panted under the stream of water as his breathing shortened in fear. The spray hit his hands and Victor’s chest, soaking the mutant’s clothes. “You took that job to save my life – you don’t want to hurt me. Please talk to me…”

In a mad attempt to change the situation, he moved one hand and brushed over a stiff nipple with his thumb. Raising the other hand higher, his fingertips settled on the collarbone. He forced himself to think about the bed games they’d played together and the times the mutant had saved him or soothed him.

“Gonna have smoke comin’ out yer ears in a minute – I can almost hear tha gears grindin’ in there. Tryin’ awful hard t’ spark yer heat up again, ain’t ya? Cuz ya think it’ll make a diff’rence, get me t’ back off … or turn me int’ yer ass puppet?”

“If he said I threatened him, he lied to you, to provoke you. Why would he do that?”

“I asked first.”

“No, I don’t want to control you, I never did. What we’ve done, that doesn’t count the same way, don’t you understand that? You liked it, and I found out that I … like it too, but making you obey in sex – Victor, that’s just a game. I can’t ‘make you’ do anything. You proved that on Halloween, just like you are now. You’re doing your utmost to scare me to death, and hey – progress – but a few minutes ago, I wanted you to push me down onto that table for a very different reason, and I know you understand that.”

Shivering again, his shoulders and neck starting to feel numb, he held Victor’s stare.

“He probly lied t’ get me here damn quick. Been moody an’ mopey – he don’t think it’s healthy fer business, can make me sloppy. Workin’ up a good mad burns that shit out.”

“At my grisly expense?”

“Yer still in one piece, ain’t ya? ‘Steada three rather large pieces…” Victor cocked his head at him with what might have been a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Still tryin’ t’ get yer heat back up? Lemme help.”

A claw slashed through the loop of the silk tie before they all retracted and the thick fingers began to unbutton his pale yellow dress shirt.

The water swept the remains of the tie away as lethal hands opened the shirt. Blue light from the arc reactor struck the mutant’s pupils and turned them into slits.

“Good thing I already know yer Lite-Brite won’t electrocute us in water, huh? Did my homework.”

“You wanted hypothermia to get me all along, I see that now.”

“Gonna warm ya up quick, don’t ya worry none ‘bout that.”

Tony gasped and clutched at the broad shoulders as Victor ducked down to rake his barbed tongue over both of his nipples.

“So just like that,” he muttered over the wet blonde hair, “your murderous avenging rage is gone and we’re done with it?”

The tongue scraped up his abdomen next and Tony writhed under it. The fear exploded into lust before his brain could catch up, and without pausing to consider if he had a green light or not, Victor hit his knees on the rocks and tugged to open belt and zipper.

“If ya miss tha murderous rage, keep talkin’. If not, shut up an’ enjoy, motormouth. Gonna suck this cock ‘til I’m done with it, then I’m takin’ ya up t’ tha suite t’ dig int’ that ass – fuck what ya want.”

Tony didn’t try to protest. He wanted it too much, and they both knew it.

As the insane pleasure began again, paling his memory of it, he let his hands hold the mutant’s head. When his fingers gripped some of the wet hair and tugged it, the purr nearly brought him to his knees. Victor held his hips still, pinning him to the rock wall. Even in anger, he was keeping him from harm.

The cold seeped into his bones and before long the pleasure was all he could feel. It defined his world, even as it tore him away from it.

~ ~ ~

Tony pushed back into Victor’s body above him for the warmth of it as much as to make him push that thick cock deeper inside him.

It was the second time Victor had remained buried until he could begin again and the first time he’d done it, Tony had struggled to get free just to know how it felt when the growling beast wouldn’t allow it.

The hand, claws flexed back to only prick the flesh on either side of his spine, had pushed him down. Growls had moved the hairs behind an ear. Then the teeth had pinched the skin at the back of his neck, the needle points holding him with a sharp threat as the thrusts began again.

That had been the moment. The teeth. The claws. Being held down for that relentless cock – Tony had moaned and come so hard it made him choke. That was when he knew there might not be a way to rid himself of wanting Victor.

Back up on his hands and knees now where he had been pulled for round three, he didn’t care about being a wet mess or whether or not it would ever stop. He hadn’t been hurt except in little ways he couldn’t help craving and burning Victor’s anger out by wallowing in pleasure was exhilarating.

He gritted his teeth when the mutant gripped his cock and jacked it in time with his thrusts. The hand moved just before he came, and caught it all. Knowing what he would do, Tony glanced over his shoulder to watch as the freakishly long tongue cleaned it off in one sloppy lick.

Their eyes met and Victor held his gaze as he came inside. The growls sent shivers up Tony’s spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

He didn’t comment, but he was a little relieved when the mutant finally pulled free and let him collapse under him. With a little effort, he rolled to his back, worn out and breathless.

Still perched on his knees, Victor ordered, “Spread.”

Again without comment, all for giving him what he wanted, Tony spread his legs and watched as the blonde settled on his belly between them to clean him up with that obscene and gifted tongue.

When he finished, and Tony was basted in saliva from the inside to half the distance up to his chest, Victor moved and settled at last next to him. Leaning on an elbow, hand propping up his head, the narrowed cat eyes studied him almost warily.

“You’re still angry,” Tony spoke calmly under that intense stare. “Can’t you just tell me why? I thought we fixed that misunderstanding down in the office. Tell me anything – let me know what you want me to know. I’m not a mind reader.”

Victor growled and turned away, flopping onto his back.

Tony sighed. “I mean that in the universal pillow talk ‘I’m not a mind reader’ sense. I suppose you’ve dealt with real mind readers, it wasn’t a good experience, and if I’m going to keep putting so many feet in my mouth, I’ll need a bigger mouth.”

“Yer pie hole is plenty big ‘nuff already.”

“You used to like my endless babbling,” he teased. “Is the honeymoon phase of the stalking over already?”

Victor growled again – one of the less sexy and more worrisome ones. “Raced back here from Europe t’ deal with yer trespassin’; blew my fuel plan all t’ hell, an’ tha schedule’s next if I can’t get back over there in good time.”

Tony ignored the next growl and cuddled in for the warmth factor. “Technically, I made an appointment which your partner, perhaps reluctantly, did agree to. How could I know he didn’t get your vote – let alone that he would lie to you to make you come here to ‘deal with me’. If he was just trying to get you laid to cure the grumpy blues, that may classify as the weirdest wingman ploy in hook up history. Not to mention that I don’t recall agreeing to the idea of telling other people about ‘us’ – whatever this mess is that makes up an ‘us’.”

“Didn’t tell ‘im shit ‘bout what happened, but he knows I like t’ stalk ya. Fer a brain like that an’ knowin’ me so well, probly lotsa stuff that’s easy t’ fig out.”

“So you’re friends – actual real friends? You were angry in a ‘don’t threaten someone I care about’ way. He’s your Rhodey.”

“Yup. I do got ‘actual friends’.”

“I see that now. I’m sorry, but you both often sound like you take turns being the boss of the other person. It was a bit hard to sort out.”

“He’s tha reason I’m more’n just a kneecap mook an’ petty hitman. Folks think I keep my pay here, or they think I’m Obinata’s personal assassin. Me an’ ‘im, our association ain’t public or private knowledge, an’ if any-fuckin’-body asks, ya tell ‘em ya dunno shit. Got it?”

“Got it. ‘Mook’, huh?” Tony chuckled. “Nobody says ‘mook’ anymore.”

“Gonna start callin’ me stupid? Don’t recommend it outside o’ a robot suit.”

Sighing, Tony sat up and moved to half-drape himself over the furry chest. The prototype suit in the briefcase was still on the floor where he’d dropped it when Victor had picked him up to throw him onto the bed.

“Your anachronisms are fun. I’m not mocking you and I wouldn’t call you stupid, because you aren’t.”

“But if’n I was, ya would,” Victor responded, still frowning.

“Probably – maybe not to your face, I choose life.” The glare that won him quickly melted into a surprising expression of dejection. “Hey, I’m kidding. I do make jokes about people’s varied ineptitudes to their faces. Trust me, you’d know – I have no shame.”

“Folks always look at me funny fer how I talk. Ya do, too.”

“The accent and ghastly grammar are pure entertainment, but I’m smart enough to know that isn’t a gauge for IQ. I like it, I swear – I get tired of being around pretentious blowhards. Have you ever been tested? For IQ?”

“Yup, years ago.”

“What was your number?”

“None o’ yer damn biz, genius.”

Tony frowned and looked away, glancing around the room. “Fine. This ... is a crazy impressive suite. Do you always sock away one of these on top of your bank towers?”

“Yup. We sock away two, ‘is an’ mine.”

“Never an ‘ours’?” He winked at the blonde. “All that bossing each other around could be called your romantic tell.”

“Ya fuck Rhodey?”

“No. So…?”

“Naw, we ain’t that kinda friends. He’s pretty much tha exact opposite o’ me sex-wise.”

“Does that mean he doesn’t force people, or doesn’t eat them afterward?”

The amber eyes narrowed again. “Yer cruisin’, ain’t ya? Yer sittin’ in a real shitty spot t’ be baitin’ me.”

“Leaning against your ribs?”

“Within reach.”

“You wanted me to learn about you beyond your crimes. Your friend wouldn’t tell me anything and you’ve been dodging my ‘ask nice’. What’s up with that?”

“Get offa me.”

“No.”

Before the lips could peel back in a snarl, Tony leaned in and kissed them, licking the hard line between them to get into that warm and deadly mouth.

“Come on, honey ... let me in.”

He stroked the chest and pinched a nipple, smiling at how easy it was to get the kiss he wanted once the growl switched over to lust.

“Didn’t you have this one pierced at that carnival? What happened with that?”

“I tore it out.”

“Ouch, geez... Why?” The cold stare met his and Tony sighed. “Of course, you’re not going to tell me. Fine. I’ll just go back to this.”

He turned the kiss into a decent making out and as the mutant finally began to relax, he moved his head to whisper into the pointed and twitching ear.

“On your belly for me, honey; it’s my turn to dig in.”

Tony got out of the way, half expecting his companion to get up and escape. When Victor rolled and spread his legs, Tony began to stroke his body anywhere he could reach, but the purr didn’t start up.

“That’s it,” Tony murmured over him, “let me, I need it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Raise your knee higher for me, so I can reach everything. Oh that’s nice. Yeah...”

Victor folded his thick muscular arms in the pillows and buried his face in them. He mumbled something Tony couldn’t hear.

“Tell me again, honey...”

*****************************************************************

Victor spoke up, ignoring his twisting stomach. “Why do ya call me that?”

“Habit? I’m superficially affectionate. Pet names are fun?”

“I ain’t yer pet.”

“Figure of speech.”

Victor swallowed a retort just to eventually get that cock shoved where he wanted it. It was hard to control the growls, but then he didn’t bother.

_Tha fool likes ‘em, so why fuss?_

He closed his hidden eyes when the bright voice whispered in his ear again.

“Victor, let me know you want this.”

“What diff’rence does it make?”

“It matters.”

“It don’t.”

He hissed when Tony got up, stopped touching him, and left the bed. Frustration rumbled in his chest. It would be over soon, and he knew he would hate himself if he never got to feel the man inside him again.

“Tell me why.”

Victor lifted his head with all of the fangs on display. “Yer just gettin’ me outta yer system, ain’t that right?”

Tony frowned and held a hand out about five and a half feet from the floor, almost level with his temple.

“People have to be at least this tall to ride your mood swings.”

Angry at Tony and himself, Victor saw how this could go, but the fear of losing control and hurting the man won out. He didn’t move, but lowered his head to watch that beautiful body as he stood there.

 _Tha calls will stop. He won’t answer ‘em – ya know that. It’s comin’. Try t’ hold tha tide from comin’ in an’ ya drown. Why’d I do this?_ “Why did I...” he whispered.

“Victor ... tell me one thing that you’re feeling or thinking right now. Just one thing. Try. Please. Why did you feel angry again? Don’t think about it, just say the next thing.”

“I feel like one o’ those bullshit exhibits where they tranq dart one o’ tha lions so some rich bastard’s brat can pet it.”

He watched Tony’s posture stiffen and then deflate; he looked ... bewildered.

“I... Why do you feel like that? We trade off, it’s what we do.”

Victor wanted to shut up, he wanted to leave. He didn’t do either.

“I’m a novelty toy from a Cracker Jack box: play with it fer five minutes an’ toss it away. That’s why it don’t matter. Ain’t nothin’ I never seen before, happens a lot.”

“Do you want me to leave? If you don’t, you have to tell me what you want, because that matters to me.”

He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t answer and Tony would leave. He turned his head and closed his eyes.

When those gifted hands touched his back, it felt different somehow. He twitched at first and they had hesitated, but then they were gently stroking.

“I wish I could learn your language. I wish I could help. What are you thinking?”

“Ya can’t help. This could kill me. All yer kind ever ends up wantin’ is t’ change me, an’ ya call that ‘help’,” Victor muttered into the bedding. “Toe tha line, do what we say, be what we say. Don’t be what ya are ... a filthy animal.”

The hands stroked and soothed, but they wouldn’t stay.

“Animals aren’t filthy. Victor, do you want this? I want it, I want you. Purr for yes...?”

One hand settled in the cleft of his ass. It didn’t matter. It was already over.

“Yes,” he whispered.

It wasn’t rough, but he knew he would remember every detail of it ... because it was the last.

When it ended, Tony kissed him on his brow as he left him lying there. “You need sleep.”

Victor rolled to his back and stared up at the ceiling. As Tony moved around the suite picking up his things, he focused on the sound of the arc reactor spinning in the man’s chest. Between one breath and the next, he thought about killing him so he couldn’t leave. His stomach twisted again and the healing factor didn’t stop it.

He sat up and hissed softly when his hair snagged inside the messy braid. Unwinding it impatiently, he let it fall where it would, half-tangled. He got up and went to the window to look out at the park. One hand rose to press against the glass as the other touched the precious beads fixed into the hair around his face. As he often did, a fingertip touched each of the eleven carved white roses in the old piece of cylindrical femur bone. It helped him to calm himself.

It was still dark, though not to his eyes. Dawn was already threatening to give the world back to the others … to the humans. Behind him, one of the ‘princes of men’, as his mate used to call them, had gone still to watch him.

The subtle scent of heat rose to devil him, but he knew it wouldn’t make the man stay. Old words, spoken in French, rose in his thoughts and his heart ached to hear the memory of his mate.

_They won’t understand you, boy – they’ll only seek to dominate, to drive away, to kill… Wild things are their enemy. This is why they scar the plains, forests, and mountains with cut wood and lines of steel. If you stand in their path, they will find a way to cut you down. Be wild, stay hidden, live – and always remember…_

*****************************************************************

Tony gathered up his clothes and dressed again as a way to force himself to stop watching Victor as he stood nude in front of the floor-to-ceiling wall of window that looked out over Central Park. His long gold blonde hair was loose and surprisingly curly here and there. The carved bone beads were still in the strands and braids around his face. When he touched them, he looked so lost.

Whoever Victor had entrusted their clothes to had done a fine job. Even the leather two-tone blue and yellow brogue Oxfords were dry and gleaming. He’d found his suit hanging in plastic by the front doors and no one would be able to tell that he had been ravished in it under a waterfall downstairs. There was even a new silk tie that matched his daring fashion sense.

He had declined breakfast, and that was when the moody had seeped back into the feral mutant.

“You needed to get back to Europe fast. Where are you headed next? Helsinki?”

In the time it took to get a reply, he got his coat on and checked that his wallet, phone, and keys were in the pockets where he’d left them.

“Helsinki,” Victor muttered. “Back t’ Paris, after. Then Nepal.”

“Eclectic itinerary.” He glanced at his watch after slipping it on, glad it was waterproof. “I have to go.”

Victor turned to face him. The sun wasn’t up yet, but the sky was beginning to grow paler behind him.

The mutant’s body was a glorious distraction. The cock was hard enough to stand out from his pelvis, but too heavy to rise very high.

“Did you find that person who hired Osiris? Or should I remain on my toes?”

“Moscow had nothin’. Asswipe Egyptian might coulda been lyin’. I’ll find tha Fixer, but yeah – stay on yer toes, since I ain’t gonna be ‘round t’ watch yer back. May spread a lie ‘bout wantin’ t’ sign up with Hydra – could get ‘em t’ find me.”

Tony made himself turn away when all he wanted to do was strip again. “Don’t be a stranger,” he spoke into the silence as he picked up the briefcase and walked out.

The fact that a conveniently placed member of security helped him find the groundfloor lobby was no surprise at all.

When he reached his car in the parking garage behind the tower, he sat there for a few minutes and tried to relax. Other people were parking and walking by to get to work, and many of them stared at the bright orange curves of the Saleen S7 supercar.

Tony started it up and the twin turbo powerplant feeding the monster’s engine roared and purred. It was a prototype too, a rare thing of feral beauty with engine power boosted to 750 hp and a top speed of 248 mph. The upgrades might not see full production for two years yet.

_I should go back to JFK and fly on home, but I never did get the answers I came for. My personal Gordian Knot is a mess, but I do know one person not far from here who could help me untangle it. Someone capable of objectivity who is considerably less loyal to Victor than Frankenbanker, and he’s had experience dealing with the feral mutant in question. It takes one to know one._

Central Park South was already too flooded with humanity as he exited the garage, so he’d have to save playing with the 0–60 miles per hour in 3.3 seconds feature for later.

“Westchester, here I come.”

He got to I-87 as soon as he could legally, and began to break the speed limit with a vengeance.

~ ~ ~

Tony was glad Scott Summers didn’t stay after greeting him at the door, listening to him babble about not having an appointment, and escorting him to McCoy’s lab. After asking the man how the defense systems he’d installed for them were working, he got a two word response: ‘Just fine.’

_I’ve met drill sergeants with more bubbly personalities. Is the ‘grumpy no talking’ thing a mutant staple? At least I know Hank is immune._

It was also a good thing he’d already seen the science lab underneath Xavier’s home and school, or he would have been too distracted by its toys to stay on target.

When Hank greeted him, slightly distracted, Tony assured him that he could wait while he found a stopping place in his work. It was odd to be on the other end of that situation for once. He found a tall stool and sat on it, relying on his poker face to avoid wincing. The ache in his body felt good though – at odds with the turmoil of thwarted curiosity in his head.

The table next to him had a lamp clamped onto it – that had a distinct lean to it. To escape the urge to tinker with it, he looked up to watch the biochemist work with beakers and smoking test tubes. He was even holding one of them with his toes.

Dr. Henry “Hank” Philip McCoy, a.k.a. the Beast, certainly looked like one, with the animalian features and abilities. His similarities to Victor put Tony oddly on edge – long pointed ears that moved, fangs, retractable claws, and lots of fur, more fur even, although Hank’s was a dark blue. He wore rectangular glasses over bright blue (and normal) eyes that betrayed what he really was inside all of that feral and simian mutation: a kind and good man, with a mind as brilliant as Tony’s and an expert in more than one field of science, including biochemistry and biophysics.

Tony knew him reasonably well by now, and any time he needed to come here for business, he never missed a visit.

At times, they didn’t see eye to eye on how to go about the game of saving the world, and Hank had what Tony considered a restrictingly myopic focus on mutant affairs. Then again, it was Hank’s rights being threatened here and there as governments struggled to find a way to handle ‘the mutant problem’. He’d always preferred to drag the other man into scientific topics, but now he’d come to discuss his own mutant problem.

Poking the lamp, he watched it list the other way. The noise it made seemed to remind the biochemist that he was there, and Hank set things down to face him. He wore white scrub pants, a t-shirt with Einstein on it, and a long white lab coat. As they both stood to shake hands, Hank was only slightly taller, but Tony knew he weighed just north of 400 pounds – another odd similarity to Victor’s massive 385 pound metal-enhanced frame.

“May I get you anything?”

Tony reclaimed his stool, discovered it swiveled, and attempted to resist spinning around on it.

“Besides that lamp? The clamp is loose. No, I’m fine. I’m trying not to randomly fix anything you may not want fixed, so I plan to just sit here and fidget.”

Hank pushed up his glasses and blinked. “I meant something to drink? Ice water, soda? Anything more exciting than that is upstairs, I’m afraid – unless you like herbal tea.”

“Oh, got it – ah, no, still fine. My reputation precedes me, I see. I’ve seen the professor’s liquor cabinets – impressive. I didn’t realize he was a connoisseur of both elite booze and charming swill.”

Hank smiled; he was the very soul of politeness. “The swill is kept stocked for Logan. What can I do for your project, Tony?”

“There is no project. Well, there are many, but that’s not why I’m here. I need information. I’d like to get it from you, in particular, and can I have your word that this will be confidential?”

“Certainly – on all counts. How may I help?”

“I need to know anything you have on Victor Creed that explains, well, what he is?”

“Ah, Herr ‘Toothmonger. First, may I ask why you need this information? A good deal of what I know is already confidential, you see.”

“I understand. Reader’s Digest version: He destroyed the Hydra jet that was shooting at me and then didn’t let me die of hypothermia while I was trying not to have a literal heart attack. Apparently he did it because he wanted my help in taking out the Hydra base, which we did. One of the prisoners I was rounding up shot his own people and then bit a cyanide capsule in his mouth so they couldn’t be questioned. Creed – tore him to wet scraps right in front of me. I had to clean the joints of my suit with Q-tips, rubbing alcohol, and canned air. Paradoxically, Creed found the pilot they stole the jet from and saved his life.”

“Quite a mixed bag.”

“Apparently that’s a theme for him. The next time I ran into him was at an event in California, where I was a reluctant eyewitness again. Creed had killed a man who was trying to assassinate me and when I tracked him down, I saw him cut into the body. He grabbed the liver and was … eating it. I panicked … and told him I was going to have SHIELD pick him up, but he escaped.”

“SHIELD likely can’t handle him – not while he’s bonded with Adamantium, at any rate.”

“That’s what he said, near enough. He told me I liked to read about crimes he’s been accused of, but had I read anything about what he is? Well, INTERPOL, the NSA, the CIA, the military, the whole alphabet, you name it: all they have on him is crimes and allegations.”

“That is their job and he is a coveted collar, for certain. Gumshoes and G-men aren’t interested in what he is, only how to stop or contain him – or use him for nefarious purposes.”

“The X-Factor thing, nearly wiping them out via triggered brainwashing, I remember.”

“The Weapon X Program, and also the Hound Program – we still don’t know the extent of that.”

“Yeah, that sort of mess is why I’m never handing a suit over to the government. The safest hands are mine.”

“I personally believe Victor is safest in his own hands, technically, and while he’s not ‘safe’ by any means, when others put puppet strings on him, even X-Factor, he becomes far more dangerous. He values freedom over anything else.”

“I have to agree with him. He’s a feral mutant like Logan, and you for that matter, I get that. I want to know what he meant about finding out more. What is he?”

“To begin with, none of us are the same sort. Environment and nature or nurture, as well as mutation all play a part. I was born a mutant, without the extreme simian or feral features and fur. That came later. I also had a good family and a decent life through most of high school. Once I moved here as a student, life was good again. I was also born in our modern age. Logan remembers little of his past, but clearly has endured much trauma and hardship.”

“He’s older too, isn’t he? Somewhere in the misty 1800s?”

“Yes, although we aren’t sure on details. Victor ... has likely had little if any nurture, a great deal too much nature, and trauma in spades, far beyond what the Weapon X Program did. He experienced scarce positive human interaction during his formative years. Up to age five, the foundation of the brain’s wiring and most aspects of self-view, personality, and how one views other people and the world is already set. If that period was traumatic and the abilities to love and trust were not formed in healthy ways, then that is the foundation one is more or less stuck with and learning to rise above it can take a lifetime.”

“I’m textbook for that in the absent/indifferent father category, so ... that makes sense. What about how modern he can be verses how archaic he is?”

“He remembers most of his past and the ways of the 1800s and 1900s. People are generally culturally stamped by the decade of their golden years; we have no clear knowledge of when that was for Victor. Yet he was a young man at the start of the 1900s, and that spirit of change, of innovation, may have helped to form his interest in cutting edge new things, such as, well ... you.”

“Yeah... Ah... Nearly anyone I ask says he’s ‘just an evil version of Wolverine’. I don’t accept that, entirely, and since Logan kills a lot of people, I’m not sure why he isn’t tucked cozily into a spot right next to Creed on the wanted posters. However ... I just need to know the facts. How much alike are they, really?”

“The facts are, that he isn’t much like Logan at all – the broader brush strokes, perhaps, but looking closer, the differences are quite immense. No mutation is the same, as I said, but in Victor, it was a very intense change. Without the healing factor as part of the package deal, I’m not sure he could have survived it.”

“Okay, now to the good stuff – I’ll trade you in tech, I’ll even fix your lamp.”

“No trade is necessary, but I should ask: what do you plan to do with this information?”

“I need to decide what to do about him. Your people managed to contain him for quite a while. Then Professor Xavier arranged to have him serve for his crimes by working for X-Factor, which ended badly – mostly the fault of the Hound Program, but still.”

“Many authorities tried to pressure Professor Xavier to hand Victor over to be executed, but so many have tried that and failed. We wanted to try rehabilitation, but we were clearly out of our depth. X-Factor with security measures was a compromise, a tampered-with one, which also failed. As I said – puppet strings of any sort are a bad idea.”

“Well, I may have a more radical idea in mind. No puppet strings, no zap collars, no prisons. I just need to wrap my head around the problem before I can sort out how to solve it.”

Hank crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his lower lip with one finger. “I am intrigued.”

“Me, too. But first, another biological issue: I have data that Hydra captured him once and tortured him for a week – the freak that did it managed to leave scars that regrow if he cuts them away. It explains why he hates Hydra so much, but why was that even possible, to scar him? I’d like to know that.”

“So would I. Assuming you are referring to the small circular clusters of ridged scars along his lower abdomen?” When Tony nodded, he added, “I could never get him to talk about them, and the professor didn’t consider it a direction necessary to go in with his sessions.”

“I’d call it necessary. I can prove Creed prevented a thermonuclear war while I was a kid – that happened because he wanted revenge on the torturer. There are too many dichotomies here where he decides to do the right thing to just write him off and throw away the key. I just … want to understand.”

“Then we should begin with the basics. I am a hominid type mutant, taking after the great apes. What Victor is – biologically – is a felid type feral mutant. Logan is a canid, not felid.”

“So I should study lions, tigers, and wolves, oh my?”

“You could, yes. Victor’s mutation is also more extensive than Logan’s or mine, and much of his body’s systems and structures are only vaguely similar to human or not similar at all. In addition, mutants run high to a condition called chromosomal polymorphism, where one species contains members with varying chromosome counts or shapes.”

“That’s not surprising. If I remember my biology reading, all forms of chromosomal polymorphism can be a step towards speciation – such as how you have various classes of mutants, from your energy producers, the ferals, magnetism talents, telepaths, and so on.”

“Indeed, yes. One area of difficulty is that polymorphisms will often result in a level of reduced fertility. Some gametes from one parent cannot successfully combine with all gametes of the other parent. Yet when both parents contain matching chromosomal patterns, pregnancy can occur. In an attempt to form at least a limited feral baseline, I also tested myself and Logan – both of us have fewer polymorphisms. Of course, this helps put into perspective why more mutants are born to non-mutant parents, or a mix of mutant and human parents.”

“It is true the mutant gene is carried by the male?”

“Yes, it is. The only child of Victor’s that we know of was a boy who turned out to not be a mutant. The mother was a metamorph, a true wildcard, genetically speaking.”

“I didn’t know he had a son.”

“They, uh … never were on good terms. The boy grew to be a man who hates all mutants and ended up a very problematic politician for my kind.”

“Oh – Graydon Creed. Yikes. For the record, never voted for or donated to that guy.”

“Of course not – you are an intelligent and socially conscious person. Basically, as far as genetics go, Logan and I are, in some ways, better off.”

“So if I follow you with my level of biology education, you both would have an easier time having kids.”

“Yes, and that may be a blessing in disguise in another way. I believe the main reason we aren’t up to our ears in mini Victors by now, what with his potential reproductive habits, is due to the fact that only a certain percent of the population is enough of a genetic match to become pregnant by him.”

“Is he aware of that?”

“I … can’t be certain. He wouldn’t discuss it, or even listen to me. That ... was not a good day. We had to repair the lab.”

“Tasmanian Devil alert. Got it. Hold on, ah … metamorph – does he still pal around with her? It’s the woman called Mystique, right? The other criminal in a zap collar working for X-Factor at the same time?”

“That’s the one, and they appear to have an ‘off again, off again, now and then on again’ sort of liaison.”

Tony fell silent as the image of Victor arriving at the Chicago conference hotel with … himself … hung in his vision. _Odds are, that was her – playing me._ He shivered. To cover it up, he jumped to the next pressing question. “Why does Creed eat people?”

“He is a carnivore in the literal sense. Eating people rather than a cow or sheep is a choice he makes, but eating meat is not. A cat can be observed eating grass, but it is generally for the purpose of inducing vomiting to expel a hairball or other obstruction or sickness.”

“So, don’t order a salad for him – good to know.”

“Victor’s digestive system cannot process vegetable matter. His body gleans those nutrients from the omnivore and herbivore prey animals he eats. The parts of his personality that developed more like a man have learned to ingest and even crave other things like candy, coffee, or alcohol, but his body isn’t built for that. The healing factor works to relieve those problems.”

“Cheetos and Twinkies,” Tony muttered. Ignoring Hank’s questioning look, he ploughed on. “What else is different? The super senses are like Logan’s, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Ah… Do you have those, too?” _Does he know I just came from a dubious consent sex marathon with Victor? I’ve never been so happy that Logan didn’t answer the doorbell._

“Not to their extent, perhaps, but yes, I do. Is this a concern?”

“No?”

“Very convincing.” Hank winked at him. “Clearly, you’ve formed a friendship of sorts through trench bonding, I assume, and he saved your life, more than once. I can scent that you’ve been around him recently, but I’m not going to call the FBI on you for harboring a felon. Not when we harbored him, rather illegally, for quite some time.”

“Oh, okay. Not harboring, actually. It was more like breakfast this morning.”

“I don’t judge – if ever a fellow needed a friend or two, it’s Victor.”

“Well the super strength, speed, all that is similar – I’ve seen you on the basketball court, and Logan’s abilities are infamous.”

“Yes, although, a few of Victor’s adversaries or perhaps even allies have surgically enhanced his strength, speed, and healing factor, at least twice that we know of.”

Tony gaped at him. “To intentionally make him tougher and more deadly than he already was?”

“Correct.”

“That is insane.”

“Agreed.”

“He’s stronger than Logan, then? They seem fairly evenly matched from what I’ve read, besides the obvious height and weight differential. How does he manage to beat Creed?”

“To be honest, he often doesn’t, but to answer your question: ferocity, tenacity, and sheer willpower.”

“Hence the small, furry moniker. Okay then. What else? Why no lisp?”

“His jaw is bigger than a human’s – all the better to pack in more teeth. It is also quite a singular bit of genius, evolution-wise, in how the hinges of his jaw developed. From a biophysicist’s perspective, his mutation is frankly fascinating, in particular the jaw and throat. The configuration of the hyoid bones duality alone could be a thesis from Heaven for an aspiring student – if they could study him without dying, of course.”

Tony managed not to react, but his encounters with Victor’s throat had been fairly fascinating – he had to agree. “In a minute, I’m going to ask if you have an assistant named Igor.”

“For the physical mutations, I could make you a copy of my medical file on him. It is rather sparse, however. Most things I learned by observing him, or simply asking him. He does possess a remarkable knowledge of his own physiology, even if he doesn’t know terms or proper scientific names for things.”

“If you were able to study him as a prisoner for as long as you did, why is his medical file sparse?”

“We have an MRI, which he hated, but I managed to talk him into humoring me once. Drugs have no effect if the healing factor is working efficiently, including sedatives, and I wasn’t interested in doing anything exploratory without them that he would view as torture.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m kidding, of course. If my suspicions are correct on how he acquired his biological knowledge of his mutation, he’s already endured enough of that.”

“Agreed.” Tony narrowed his eyes at the scientist and then raised an eyebrow. “Checking for how I react to things, huh?”

“Only a little.” Hank beamed a smile at him with an impressive amount of pointy teeth in it. “He heals, so no real need for medical attention, and most of his stay here involved therapy sessions with Professor Xavier, not medical testing with me – more’s the pity. In the end, what time I did have with him, I found it was far more productive to ask questions and find ways to cajole him into wanting to answer them.”

“How can you be sure he told you the truth? He’s a well-documented professional liar and manipulator.”

“Victor tells the truth quite often unless he has a real reason to conceal information. He told me lying took a lot of effort and the truth was more efficient. Getting him to talk at all is the real challenge.”

“Definitely. Breakfast was quite one-sided in the chat department. So eating people is a choice, but why choose that?”

“Abject hatred? The ultimate insult? Or a learned habit. From what I gathered, a lot of that has to do with the extensive and lengthy abuses and traumas he suffered from a very young age.” Hank slumped on his stool and his shoulders fell a little. “His mutation change struck unusually early. Most reach the change at puberty, which may actually trigger it. Victor was nine or ten according to what Professor Xavier discovered, and his mutation may have been triggered by trauma. Puberty manifested in him at the same time, however. It’s hard to determine which was the cart and which the horse, or it could have been something else entirely.”

“Professor Xavier got into his head, didn’t he? With or without permission?”

“Without, I’m afraid – at least for those older discoveries.”

Tony shivered. “I’m glad he isn’t here, then.”

Hank sighed. “He has his methods, and thought he could cure the madness and blood rages. In the end, after observing Victor’s responses to the treatments, I couldn’t support that method anymore. There is a wild creature in that man, but he also could be called a wild creature that has a man in him.”

“I noticed you call him ‘Victor’. Most people who hate him call him ‘Creed’, or worse.”

“I never claimed I hated him, per se. Wary admiration mixed with dislike is closer to the mark. I did notice you use the name ‘Creed’ with a certain amount of discomfort. Is that to conceal the fact that you would rather call him ‘Victor’?”

“You got me. So why do you?”

“In talks with him, using his name got me further. The more I learned, and the more Professor Xavier shared with me, it became obvious that Victor had had a very ugly life. I suppose I wanted to reach out, try to be kind.”

“I have to wonder...” Tony mused, frowning. “I had drinks with some of your teammates around that time, and they told me about the dungeon the professor tossed him into. Not to mention being poked and prodded mentally and physically. Is that what the X-Men call ‘catching more flies with honey over vinegar’? I’d have gone for your throats myself, if you treated me that way.”

“Try to understand. I doubt if your breakfast companion was quite the same fellow. When he was here, he was outraged, yes. He came of his own volition, but then got locked up and treated like a prisoner. The professor did it to protect our people, our students – but Victor saw it as a betrayal. He had asked for help to control the violent urges, so many of the sessions with the professor in the beginning, he did agree to. Professor Xavier felt that Victor’s real goal was to regain self-control merely to go off and continue committing crimes.”

“But he came to a man he considered an enemy to ask for help – that is serious desperation and a big leap of trust. He’s a rather dangerous person to betray, and also that’s a missed opportunity to teach him that he could begin to trust you all.”

“It’s a difficult line to walk, between working to defuse the threat he represents and attempting to truly dig in and help him. I’m told he began to resist, yet I’m not sure exactly when or why his consent was revoked.”

“He has trouble understanding consent at all, but I’ve seen him show … well, honor – even kindness and humor.”

“I found that capacity in him as well, along with an odd gruff charm. However, I also remember the night he eviscerated Psylocke, and she wasn’t the only close friend or teammate he has hurt over the years.”

Tony shivered. “Warren told me – I got him drunk in support.”

“Keep in mind that we are discussing a person who considers the murder of women Logan cares for to be an amusing hobby. That having been said, there are always reasons for even the most heinous behaviors. We can’t claim to understand him if we merely say he is ‘evil’. That is, as they say, a cop-out. One must dig deeper. However, it is a study that would take longer than I have today.”

“No problem, I’ll be out of your way soon. I should be working, myself.” Hunting for a new topic, he found an incomplete one. “How did you get Victor to agree to the MRI?”

“I told him Logan had done it and hadn’t been afraid of it.”

“Sneaky, but not entirely on the up-and-up.”

“I also bribed him with candy, I’m afraid. He was refusing to eat, among other things. I needed answers. No one wanted to give him raw meat, we were trying to stop the urges for blood. What we were giving him, he simply wouldn’t eat and he began to drop weight. I also observed the healing factor beginning to weaken. So I changed that situation. I suppose I became the lesser evil.”

“So what did you feed him?”

“Raw meat.”

“Good. If you give him a reason to like you, show that you admire some aspect about him, or if he gets curious about something, he’ll start to talk. Usually.”

“I agree. Victor is very good at being alone, but he can also crave company and if shown a modicum of respect, he is capable of having a mostly civil conversation. He also possesses a remarkable mix of poor self-esteem and near manic arrogant pride. I played up admiring his mutations, so similar to my own, and he became willing to tell me more about them.”

“Again, sneaky.”

“One does what one can in the pursuit of knowledge and should attempt to keep to the Hippocratic Oath, even when speaking with a potentially sociopathic killer.”

“Sociopath, huh? Are we handing out labels prior to the in-depth study?”

“Potential. He shows most of the symptoms; however, I believe his feral nature and instincts have much more to do with his behavior than any of us realized.”

“Give me an example.” Tony got up from the stool and began to pace a short path in front of it. He couldn’t be still for this. “Like, why does he … rape.”

“Ah. That is a felony behavior none of our methods of rehabilitation have been able to chip away at. It more or less makes my point – nature and instinct playing a bigger part than sociopathy, a twisted need to display power over another, or basic criminal intent.”

Completing the next round of his restless circuit, Tony repeated, “Example?”

“Take pheromones, if you will – they affect feral mutants much the same as they do humans, but far more intensely in most cases. A man exposed to them from a woman he finds attractive: he may ask her to dinner. A feral as mutated as Victor can be affected to a dangerous degree. Logan shared with me that it can take a strong will to ignore the stimuli and respect a woman’s boundaries.”

Tony picked up a pen from the table, clicked it twice, realized that would get obsessively annoying fast, and put it back down. “You don’t have that problem – do you?”

“Me personally, no, but again, they are not ‘modern people’ or particularly civilized. Or perhaps as an erudite fellow, chained to a syllabus for so long, I may simply be highly domesticated.”

“He doesn’t even seem to think about … what he’s doing to someone else.”

“I don’t believe thinking is necessarily a part of it. It is possible that Victor is either less able or simply less willing to control his reactions. Thus, he may get stimulated and respond with an urge to mate that leads to committing rape.”

“As theories go, that would be a hard sell for victims to cope with.”

“They shouldn’t have to. The onus is on him to change his criminal behavior. We are discussing why he does it. At times, I believe his motive is malicious, but other cases are clearly instinct, and if understanding is to be achieved, that must be taken into account – by researchers, at least.”

Tony leaned against the table and sighed, but nodded. “Sometimes it’s necessary to remove emotional outrage and moral offense in order to see something scientifically.”

“And therefore gain more insight, yes. Instinct is not thought; if it were, it wouldn’t be instinct. If you observe stray cats when a female is in heat, the civilized human niceties of wooing, dating, and asking permission are not what you will observe. Often, neither the female nor the males are ‘considering’ anything – they are simply responding to stimuli, and acting on instinct, complete with the male at times immobilizing the female to mate with her. In those situations, often the strongest male will be the one who gets to breed.”

Tony’s mind flashed through both disturbing memories of being pinned by Victor, and a few times it had happened that had altered his entire understanding of what he was capable of desiring in sex.

Swallowing hard, he merely said, “A human woman is not a stray cat.”

“Certainly not. Yet most humans observing mating instincts in nature do so through a lens of human civilization. It then becomes, ‘that poor female cat’, but she herself doesn’t have that viewpoint of her circumstances. She is in heat, with her own drives to seek a mate stimulating her behavior.”

“All right, I can deal with that concept – for alley cats. How can you be sure it applies to Victor?”

“In conversation, he didn’t seem to understand that his actions were criminal, because to him, they were instinctual. It is natural to assume others think as we do, and have similar values to our own. My students have whittled that down to calling it ‘Psych 101’ with a dash of sarcasm. Victor expressed to me that he felt females were duplicitous – he used far more misogynistic terms – in the way that their bodies proclaimed they wished to mate, but they either didn’t, or didn’t wish it with him. Being the male who won mating rights didn’t often win him a willing mate, and he expressed confusion and anger over it. I tried to explain, but to him, the pheromones were absolute and unassailable proof of a female’s readiness to mate in his view. He seemed to assume she should want the strongest male.”

“Because: instincts.”

Hank pushed up his glasses again and cleared his throat. “Yes, although that was quite a few years ago. He may have learned more since, and I certainly hope so, but I believe that many of the tenets of society and human interactions are confusing for Victor, especially as they can diverge from his instincts.”

Frowning, Tony picked up the pen again and started flipping it between his fingers. “How does Logan manage to control it then, if they’re both non-domesticated barbarians?”

“Logan made a choice. He has often sought out some of humanity’s rather strict codes of behavior, such as becoming a samurai, to learn self-control. I had the pursuit of six PhDs to keep me grounded. As Professor Xavier discovered, Victor has kept to the wilderness and away from humans at all for a good deal of his early life. He seemed to jump into being around people more during times he served in wars – which, of course, can be quite an uncivilized environment all its own.”

“How can anyone turn a blind eye, though? Sexual assault causes lasting damage, and if the other men he’s winning mating rights from are killed – their boyfriends, husbands – that’s an even bigger mess.”

“As I said, this does not excuse his behavior in any way. If he is going to be a part of society, he needs to learn how to control his nature and deny many of his urges and instincts in order to respect the boundaries and rights of others.”

The pen stopped flipping as he gripped it in a fist. “Even though, to Victor, those instincts and often unavoidable stimuli can be as difficult to control as deciding not to breathe.”

Hank laced his fingers together at his waist. “I suppose, yes – certainly – but one cannot tell his victims that they must be the ones to conform to his view of things.”

“No, of course not, but… I can’t help thinking – isn’t that a bit like dropping a lion into a stadium and expecting it to learn how to play football?”

“Some would call it a willingness issue. If you want a wooly hat, you’ll need to learn how to knit. The difference in people he has to deal with is, some expect him to learn as he lands there, while others of us, possessing wisdom and logic, understand it may take time – possibly a lot of time. Which, of course, he has – being immortal for all intents and purposes, or near enough.”

“The real trick is how to keep people safe until he learns.”

“Yes, but that assumes he chooses to learn at all. One cannot force that sort of deep core change – as the professor, and by default the rest of us, found out the hard way. If Victor’s choice is not to change or learn, what then? All of those government and law enforcement agencies you mentioned are thinking that they can either turn a blind eye, therefore taking on part of the blame, or they must find another way to keep people safe from him – and most methods are laughably temporary.”

“Those people … all they want to do is use him … or kill him.”

“For the record, I feel he is worth the effort to help, in a way that benefits him as well and without trying to force him to stop being who and what he is – but the task is daunting.”

“I don’t want to change him that way. I don’t want to lock him up or break him to make it happen, either. He needs to understand some things differently, but first, he has to care…”

Tony turned all of that around and around in the gears of his thoughts, and then abruptly tossed the pen down on the table and looked back up at Hank.

“The carrot and stick metaphor – he needs a good lure, a reason to choose change. If he’s mostly gotten whacked with the stick all of his life, well – it would make me hostile, I know that. Victor needs something quite spectacular dangling from that stick – and a chance, and space, to learn a different way to handle his feral nature. Not to squash it, but to modify the behavior. Inspiration first though, to help him want to try… That’s it. Victor needs a goal, something he wants; he needs … a really awesome knit hat.”

Hank smiled. “So it would seem. May I ask how Victor ended up being one of your projects? Merely in gratitude, even for saving your life, may pale as a motive when the real work begins – provided he would even entertain the idea or speak with you on the topic. At this stage, after all the mishandlings of many, his consent would be vital – for his well-being as well as for that of others.”

“I think you already know he’d be an amazing asset on our side of the moral fence.”

“Granted. He would be, and if it was something he chose for himself, it would be genuine.”

“I think he’s worth the time, worth the effort, too. He didn’t go that far into – well, depravity – overnight either, or without help. He seems to think few care if he lives or dies, and that most people would prefer the latter. That is no sort of environment in which to talk a lion into learning to knit a hat, solely because someone else told him that his ears are cold.”

Hank chuckled. “I concur. However, I would settle for him deciding to aim his violent energies at those who also harm the innocent.”

“I’d probably settle for that, too. Fighting Hydra with him was something else. Hey, if we could just occupy him with wiping them out, it’d be a better world.”

“It would indeed.” Hank rose to his large furry feet. “I wish you the best of luck. Don’t get eaten.”

Tony smiled as he approached and held out his hand, giving McCoy’s large, clawed, and blue-furred hand a strong shake. “Thanks, Hank. If I can ever return the favor, just ask.”

“Delighted to assist in a worthy cause, and as always, it’s a treat to mix metaphors with a fellow such as yourself. You already serve as a consultant for the security systems here.”

“Yeah, about that, get a new lamp – seriously – that’s my advice for you, as a freebie.” He tossed the scientist a wink and started the long trek out of the lab and back up to the surface again.

~ ~ ~

In the car, surrounded by Professor Xavier’s central fountain and manicured landscaping, Tony turned his phone back on and found a flood of messages waiting.

He had to get some work done on advancements he was designing for mobile surgical units for field medics, and he wanted to revamp and revisit a few systems to improve Stark Intelli-crops. The Secretary-General Kofi Annan had asked for his help in finding better ways to get clean water to people in underdeveloped countries way back in June, and he’d managed to respond once. A few of the voicemails were from Rhodey, days ago – he was going to be pissed.

With a sigh, Tony started the car. He always took a moment or two to settle in the seat and take it in – the initial roar of the engine, the deep purr as it idled. It could calm him, and it was a bit sexy too, to be honest.

*****************************************************************

Victor knew he was running from it, trying to forget the loss of Tony with work and distractions, but the world kept reminding him. On the television in his suite in Helsinki’s grand old Hotel Kämp, the news had shown him Iron Man fighting terrorists again in some nameless desert over 4,000 miles away. When he had turned it off, he’d fished out the toy Tony had made for him and set it on his head.

He didn’t dare use the Memory Image Inducer to show him its inventor – not yet. As he’d settled into the piled up pillows, he intended to call up Bonnie, but it was the telepath that appeared instead.

Birdy was sitting at the foot of the bed, her long blonde hair still wet, and a white fluffy towel around her delicious pale body.

“Hiya, doll,” he whispered to her image, though that wasn’t what he had said in the memory.

“Of course we have to leave, the job is over, Mr. Creed. The next one won’t wait,” she responded as she once had.

It wasn’t the same bed, but it had been this hotel. The fancy pile of Old World hospitality had occupied this very spot since 1887. He and Birdy had stayed here not quite two decades ago? Time often blurred on him; there was too much of it in his rearview mirror.

Two rooms had been booked, but she had never slept in hers. She had always acted like she didn’t want it, but he’d always known that she did, and sooner or later they would be tangled together again, panting and sweating as they worked to pump him dry. Once in a blue moon she would call him ‘Victor’ but most of the time it was ‘Mr. Creed’, and he hadn’t minded – it sounded like respect.

“Now yer worm food, if that, ain’t ya, doll? What a waste. Should visit, though, maybe. Ain’t dropped by yer stone in a while.”

She had given him the glow, that burst of telepathic juice that hit his scrambled blood-soaked brains and set them straight again – long enough to do the job, to remember who he was before he could sink back into what he was.

“Gettin’ rid o’ me woulda been easy fer ya,” he told her, staring into the big blue eyes. “Ya didn’t need t’ call in sonny boy fer that. All ya had t’ do was not gimme tha glow an’ run away far ‘nuff, long ‘nuff, ‘til I fell int’ tha red haze an’ forgot who ya were. Or ya coulda put me on some horrid memory loop, got me lost in my own fuckin’ head. Ya never did. Maybe ya liked it, what we did. Ya def liked tha money I paid ya.”

He twitched at the sound of a song coming through the memory – Pink Floyd’s _Wish You Were Here_. Had he put that on, or had she?

The girl in the projected memory, obeying some gruff taunt he’d made, began to strip away her towel. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she did it. It would take a little time before the fire in her was lit, before she would cling to him, urge him on. It always happened.

Haunting and sad, the song disrupted the memory. When she faded, he closed his eyes and let the words flood his thoughts. It sounded just like stuff that huge gruff but patient carpenter used to say to him – the warrior who was tired of war. Since it had been written, he’d called it Michel’s song.

So, so you think you can tell  
Heaven from Hell  
blue skies from pain?  
Can you tell a green field  
from a cold steel rail?  
A smile from a veil?  
Do you think you can tell?

Did they get you to trade  
your heroes for ghosts?  
Hot ashes for trees?  
Hot air for a cool breeze?  
Cold comfort for change?  
Did you exchange  
a walk on part in the war  
for a lead role in a cage?

How I wish  
how I wish you were here  
We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl  
year after year  
Running over the same old ground  
What have we found?  
The same old fears  
Wish you were here

The old lonliness threatened and no matter how long he ran from it, he knew it would always be there. He needed the wild places, the snow and the silence – he needed to forget how to be … anything at all. The beast within didn’t miss people who were dead, or others who had simply walked away.

A flash across his thoughts showed him his mate, the first to teach him how to want, how to need. Dark hair, dark eyes, rough hands, and the spirit of a creator, an artist – under that gaze, he had learned to make things, instead of only destroying them.

Carefully, not daring to open his eyes, he pulled the device from his head. “J’aurais aimé que tu sois,” he whispered, repeating the song’s title in French.

Restless, he rose and dropped the circlet on the bed. Picking up his phone and the battered pack of cigs, he went out onto the small balcony. Puffing smoke rings into the night, he hit the inventor’s speed dial key. Tony was off on a mission, so it should go to voicemail.

“Got yer pulse weapon,” he spoke after the beep. “Say where an’ when, if ya still want it.”

Ending the call, he held the phone and leaned on the rail as he smoked. Paris was next, to mop up loose ends. All he wanted to do was get to Nepal. The world was old there, and the winter and forest had never learned how to grieve.

_Michel is long gone. Time gets ‘em, even if nothin’ else does – like dominoes made o’ bones. One day, if Tony lives long ‘nuff, he’ll be an old man an’ then he’ll die. Long after, I’ll be standin’ in a place, maybe this place, or maybe it’ll be dust by then … smokin’ an’ thinkin’ ‘bout Tony, who’ll be long gone._

Traffic passed below him like a symbol of time – indifferent as always. He dropped and crushed the cigarette butt under his bare foot. Reaching up into the hair by his ear, he touched the small piece of bone, his finger sliding over it as he counted the roses he’d carved there.

“Tony…” he whispered. _Learned how t’ want, how t’ need … wish I never had._

 

**FINI.**

(Sabretooth will return in _Vices and Virtues_.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter was inspired by Bach’s "Toccata and Fugue in D Minor". The musical definition of “fugue”: a contrapuntal composition in which a short melody or phrase (the subject) is introduced by one part and successively taken up by others and developed by interweaving the parts. It fit this chapter to a T. “Kon’nichiwa” means “hello” in Japanese. I researched the crap out of the French phrase “J’aurais aimé que tu sois” for “I wish you were here”, with the ‘you’ in question meant to be a loved one. I hope it’s correct. I got it from people who claimed it was.
> 
> I had no idea how fond I am of Hank McCoy until I got the inspiration to write this scene with Tony and then started to work on it. Turns out, I adore Hank and I want to smish him. I’ve always liked him, but now it’s a serious fondness. I respect the views of any fan who likes Professor Charles Xavier, or “Cueball” to use Victor’s favorite nickname. However, I don’t like Xavier, and I never really have, except for a few stories where he was a good man. As a Sabretooth fan, I believe what Xavier did to Victor in captivity was basically telepathic rape, and it is the chief reason I hate the man. I think Victor wanted to escape the daily “treatment sessions” and his captivity so badly that he ended up baiting Logan into giving him the claw lobotomy. I believe he was seeking a way to die. At the start of all of that, after the death of his telepath, Birdy, Victor went to the X-Men for help, and asked Xavier in person to help him learn to control his blood rages that he needed the telepathic “glow” to fix – temporarily. To a certain point, I understand Xavier needed to take precautions to protect his people, but that doesn’t explain Victor’s canon views on the “treatment sessions” as torture and violation. Xavier was turned down by Victor to join the X-Men long before Logan came along. I believe he did what he did to force a fix to the blood rages, and maybe to turn Victor into an X-Man – like it or not, willing or not. That is some scary stuff, folks. Also, there are times in the comics where Xavier gets far too megalomaniac for me, (to say nothing of turning into Onslaught) even to the point of threatening Storm once that he would mind-control them all to obey in battle (his own “beloved” X-Men) if she and they wouldn’t allow him to join and lead a battle that Storm thought he should sit out on. So, it isn’t just my Victor who hates Xavier. The real challenge for me is when I’m writing Logan, Hank, or Jean – because they love the man.
> 
> Next up is the first Sabey/Jean installment, and then IronTooth will be back in Over the Edge. Thanks for reading and commenting, y’all are spoiling my muse! I am delighted to know that others can dig IronTooth as well. It may be the tiniest lonely little ship out there, but it’s my OTP and my obsession, all the same. -  AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


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